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FALAISE 
The  Town  of  the  Conqueror 


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FALAISE 

The  Town  of  the  Conqueror 

By 

Anna  Bowman  Dodd 

Author  of 

"In  and  Out  of  Three  Normandy  Inns,"   "Cathedral  Davs," 

"On  the  Broads,"  "  Glorinda,"  etc. 

Illustrated 


Boston 
Little,    Brown,   and    Company 

1900 


1)C^o 


T) 


Copyright,   igoo. 
By  Anna  Bowman  Dodd. 

All   rights   reser-ved 


UNIV.F.RSITY  PRESS    •    JOHN   WILSON 
AND    SON    •    CAM  B  RIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


DEDICATION 
EN    SOUV^ENIR    RECONNAISSANT 

A 

MONSIEUR    LE    CURE    BERNARD 

CI-DEVANT    abbe'   DE    NOTRE-DAME- 
DE-GUIBRAY 


255107 


PREFACE 

\  S  certain  of  the  smaller  Italian  towns 
-^  ^  played  each  their  part  in  that  European 
phase  of  cle\-elopment  we  call  the  Renaissance, 
so  in  France  some  of  its  minor  towns  have 
been  centres  of  great  movements  whose  influ- 
ence has  not  been  alone  for  France  and  French- 
men, but  for  the  whole  human  race. 

For  several  centuries,  in  Falaise,  feudalism 
and  chivalry,  English  and  French  arms,  Cathol- 
icism and  Protestantism  each  in  turn  struggled 
for  that  supremacy  which  was  to  make  or  mar 
human  progress. 

From  the  days  when  Romans  made  of  Nor- 
mandy a  delightful  Roman  province  to  the 
reign  of  the  Great  Napoleon,  there  has  been 
no  century  in  which  Falaise  has  not  contributed 
a  brilliant  or  important  chapter  to  French 
history. 


PREFACE 


Lying  somewhat  apart  from  the  high-roads 
of  tourist  travel,  this  interesting  and  beautiful 
town  is  but  Httle  known. 

Fully  to  write  its  history  would  be  to  write 
the  histories  of  Normandy  and  of  France.  The 
present  volume  is  an  attempt  merely  to  outline 
the  town's  earlier  military  importance,  to  trace 
its  growth  in  commercial  prosperity,  and  to 
describe  the  charm  of  its  modern  aspect. 

The  treatment  of  "  The  Story  of  Arlette,"  in 
fictional  form,  in  Part  II.,  was  suggested  by  the 
models  furnished  us  in  the  older  chroniclers, 
whose  versions  of  the  loves  of  Robert  and 
Arlette  agree  chiefly  in  their  preference  for  a 
fanciful  rather  than  for  the  more  conventional 
historical  form. 

Versailles,  July,  1900. 


CONTENTS 
Part  I. 

TO    THE    FAIR    AT    FALAISE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     An  Inn  Courtyard 3 

II.     The  Romance  of  the  Road 13 

III.  The  Caen  Plains 22 

IV.  Chateaux  and  Church  Spires 30 

V.     On  the  Road  to  Caen  and  Tours    ...  37 

VI.     Falaise. — Street  Scenes 47 

VII.     To  the  Fair  Grounds 56 

VIII.     Horse-Trading 69 

IX.     Women  Vendors 80 

X.     The  Fair  of  Booths 89 

XI.     Some  Night  Scenes loi 

iart  II. 

THE    TALE    OF    A    TOWN 

I.     The  Story  of  Arlette 1 1 1 

II.     Robert  the  Magnificent 127 

III.  The  Young  Duke  William  at  Falaise    .     .  144 

IV.  William's  Capture  of  Falaise 154 

V.     History  of  the  Great  Fair 186 

VI.     The  Chateau  de   Falaise 204 

VII.     Falaise  of  our  own  Tlaie 245 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Chateau  of  Falaise Frotitisfiece 

Page 

Some  Peasant  Critics i? 

Across  the  Caen   Plains 23 

A  small  Chateau  near  Falaise 44 

Falaise 49 

The  Square  of  St.   Gervais 5 1 

A  Street  Scene 52 

The  Apse  of  the    Norman    Church    of    Notre  Dame  de 

Guibray - °  60 

The  Horse-Fair 61 

Some  Buyers 7° 

"  This  way,  my  friend " 73 

A  Sale  of  Donkeys 78 

Some   Normandy  Chars-a-bancs 87 

"By  the  Slice,  Madame" 91 

A  Scene  at  the  Fair  of  Booths 96 

A  Typical  Norman 99 

William  the  Conqueror 109 

Place  Guillaume  le  Conquerant,  Falaise 149 

The  Walls  and  Bastions  of  the  Fortress 205 

The  Fortress  and  Talbot  Tower 217 

Street  View,   Falaise 243 

A  House  in  the  Valley 248 


xiv  LIST    OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

The  Norman  Church  of  St.  Laurent 249 

The  Corniche  of  D'Aubigny 251 

Valdante  and  Porte  des  CordeHers 254 

Fontaine  d'Arlette,  Falaise 257 

A  Chateau  in  Town 260 

Apse  of  Saint  Gervais,  Falaise 266 

The  Church  of  Saint  Gervais 267 

The  Chateau  of  Versainville,  near  Falaise 272 

Sainte  Trinitd,  Choir  and  Apse 275 

The  Church  of  Sainte  Trinite 277 


PART    I 
TO    THE    FAIR    AT    FALAISE 


FALAISE: 

THE  TOWN  OF  THE  CONQUEROR 

CHAPTER    1 

AN    INN    COURTYARD 

THE  summer  city  of  the  blond  beaches  — 
the  city  that  stretches  from  beneatli  the 
cliffs  of  Etretat  to  the  rock-perched  cathedral 
of  Mont  St.  Michel  —  was  at  its  gayest  revel 
of  crowded  promenades,  casino  balls,  and  villa 
and  chateaux  festivities. 

Nowhere  along  the  bright  coast  was  the 
scene  of  this  yearly  review  of  the  fashions  and 
of  the  invertebrate  passions  bred  of  them,  set 
with  Qfreater  effect  than  in  the  ornamental 
courtyard  of  the  famous  old  inn,  Guillaume  le 
Conquerant.  Centuries  ago,  kings  and  great 
ladies  had  passed  beneath  its  arched  doorway. 
Once  more  the  life  and  fashion  of  its  era  was 
centred  within   the  open  courtyard.      Like  cer- 


_j  FALAISE 

tain  marvellous  faces  seated  about  the  tables, 
the  old  inn  with  its  new  hangings,  bright  tiles, 
and  modern  bric-a-brac  adornments,  presented 
the  aspect  of  a  correctly  restored,  touched-up 
antiquity.  Those  who,  only  yesterday,  had 
been  dining  under  the  trees  of  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  who  now  foL\nd  themselves 
breakfasting  under  Normandy  roofs,  to  such 
there  could  have  been  no  startling  sense  of 
change. 

Each  little  table  was  a  centre  of  talk  and 
laughter.  Above  the  metallic  clatter  of  well- 
plied  forks  and  knives  rose  the  gay  rhythm  of 
the  purling  French  speech.  Under  the  shade 
of  the  large  umbrellas,  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  sat  covertly  watching  the  Chaussee 
d'Antin.  The  smart  world  of  the  Jockey  Club, 
between  courses,  was  busy  booking  its  bets ; 
for,  in  an  hour,  the  horses  were  to  run  at 
Caen, 

In  open  sheds  and  inner  courtyards,  coaches, 
automobiles,  motor-cycles,  bicycles,  every  ve- 
hicle warranted  best  to  minister  to  the  modern 
mania  for  rapid  displacement  —  with  these  was 
every  inch  of  available  space  crowded.     Above 


AN  INN   COURTYARD  5 

the  melodious  niurnuir  of  voices,  the  grinding 
of  wheels  struck  upon  the  ear  —  in  harsh 
discord.  The  throb  of  panting  engines,  the 
shriek  of  released  steam  —  such  were  the 
sounds  that  were  turning  the  quiet  of  a  Nor- 
mandy inn  into  the  clangour  of  a  metropolitan 
centre. 

Kaleidoscopic  as  changes  wrought  at  a 
masque  were  some  of  the  surprises  served  to 
the  eye. 

The  American  beauty  of  the  Houlgate  sea- 
son, unrecognizable  a  moment  before,  when 
seated  in  her  red-painted  car,  was  now  proven 
to  be  a  beauty  and  no  monster.  Her  unsightly 
envelope  of  rubber  coat,  goggles,  and  thick  veil 
once  shed,  the  flower  of  her  loveliness  emero;ed 
fresh  as  the  growing  roses  about  her. 

A  certain  prince,  however,  lying  flat  on  his 
back,  in  the  inner  courtyard,  beneath  the  broken 
vertebrce  of  his  car,  was  the  true  focal  attrac- 
tion. He  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Be- 
grimed, oily,  besmirched,  this  scion  of  one  of 
the  oldest  of  great  French  houses,  was  ac- 
claimed as  ideal  a  figure  as  were  certain  of  his 
ancestors. 


6  FALAISE 

The  youthful  prostrate  form  was  being  all 
but  mobbed.  Any  number  of  great  ladies,  and 
others  less  great,  left  their  omelettes  to  cool, 
that  they  might  circle  about  the  hero  prince. 

"  He  's  a  dead  game  sport !  "  a  lovely  Anony- 
ma  cried  out,  as  she  bent  her  vast  tulle  turban 
above  the  dislocations  of  the  wrenched  wheel. 

"  Tres  crane,  fa —  I  really  didn't  think  it  of 
him  !  "  sotto-voce'd  a  lady  of  the  right  aristo- 
cratic faubourg,  as  she  imperilled  the  purity 
of  her  laces  to  get  a  better  look  at  her  young 
friend. 

The  blows  dealt  by  this  young  nobleman's 
hammer  were  making  an  al  fresco  breakfast  in 
this  picturesque  old  inn  as  peaceful  and  agree- 
able a  meal  as  if  eaten  in  a  foundry.  But  what 
of  that }  Or  what  of  the  poisoning  of  an  air, 
usually  as  sweet  as  roses  and  ozone  produce, 
with  smells  such  as  formerly  overhung  a  medi- 
aeval town  ?  Both  noise  and  smells  but  proved 
the  inn  to  be  in  the  very  highest  fashion  of 
our  day. 

In  the  midst  of  a  world  so  gay  and  up-to- 
date,  the  rickety  old  omnibus,  as  it  creaked 
its    way    between    the  frou-frou  of   the   ladies' 


A  A'  I  NX  COURTYARD  J 

skirts,  seemed  an  anaclironism.  A  peasant 
and  an  abbe,  who  had  sought  a  vine-covered 
shed  as  if  it  were  a  cloistered  retreat  from 
which  to  view  the  dazzle  and  glitter  of  the 
brilliant  scene,  were   two   more. 

A  third  was  a  Normandy  char-a-bancs,  into 
which  maidservants  and  hostlers  were  placing 
portmanteaux  and  other  travelling  impedi- 
menta. In  so  venerable  an  inn  as  one  dating 
from  the  Conqueror,  for  its  world  to  sneer  at 
a  Norman  cart  would  seem  incredible.  But 
its  novel  use  had  brought  about  the  usual 
sharpness  of  criticism.  To  drive,  indeed, 
when  all  the  world  was  automobiling  or 
cvcling  —  even  though  the  gain  in  speed 
should  send  one  the  quicker  into  the  world 
beyond  !  Above  all  —  to  choose  a  peasant's 
cart!  —  to  say  nothing  of  going  inland  when 
all  Paris  was  lining  the  bright  Calvados 
beaches  !  No,  only  the  countries  beyond  the 
sea  bred  such  choice  varieties  as  that ! 

This  verdict  was  conveyed  to  us  by  any 
number  of  eyes.  The  French  eye  differs  from 
its  better-disciplined  sister  below  it  —  the  suave 
Gallic    mouth  —  in    this:   it   will    tell    3'ou    the 


8  FALAISE 

truth  with  an  almost  refreshing  Anglo-Saxon 
sincerity.  Who  sees  the  monster,  when  the 
ear  is  being  seduced  by  the  caressing  French 
syllables  ?  Those  hundreds  of  eyes  were  speak- 
ing plain  truths  and,  though  lips  were  working, 
since  no  words  reached  the  ear,  we  were  left  in 
no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  true  import  of 
the  message. 

For  my  own  part,  I  should  like  to  have 
made  a  rejoinder.  Any  number  of  fine  things 
have  occurred  to  me  since,  as  the  ri^ht  answer 
to  have  given,  there  and  then,  from  the  broad 
seat  of  that  char-a-bancs. 

First  of  all,  every  Frenchman  in  that  gay 
courtyard  would  have  been  the  better  for 
knowing  that  Americans,  when  they  travel, 
are  the  wisest  of  fools  —  they  commit  the 
prudent  foll}^  of  first  enrolling  themselves 
under  the  banner  of  sentiment.  Now  in  mat- 
ters pertaining  to  sentiment  we  Americans  are 
as  inexorable  as  we  are  consistent.  We  must 
have  the  old  and  the  historic  served  up  to  us 
with  the  sauce  of  reality.  Restorations  we 
resent  as  a  personal  injury.  Innovations  are 
criminal.     Yet  such   is  our  inconsistency,  we 


AN  INX  COURTYARD  9 

are  not  over-keen  about  breathing  the  same  air 
as  that  with  which  antiquity  went  into  business, 
so  to  speak.  We  prefer  the  picturesque,  when 
hygienically  plumbed.  Let  it,  however,  be- 
ware of  becoming  the  fashion.  We  and  the 
ghosts,  the  latter  properly  disinfected,  must 
have  the  place  to  ourselves. 

Hence  the  logic  of  starting  for  an  eleventh- 
century  Fair  in  a  Normandy  char-a-bancs. 

Here  was  an  expedition  with  the  right  his- 
toric flavor.  The  cross-country  drive  w^ould 
be  the  test  as  to  whether  all  Normandy  had 
gone  the  way  of  this  old  inn  ;  whether,  also, 
by  the  roads  w^e  were  to  q-q,  in  those  rolling 
fifty  miles,  the  smile  of  adyenture  might  not 
be  caught  dimpling  the  cheek  of  the  common- 
place ;  and  whether,  at  our  journey's  end,  we 
might  not  touch  hands  with  customs  as  old 
as  the  feudal  centuries.  Falaise,  the  town  of 
William,  and  his  cradle,  we  were  told,  was  a 
town  in   a  thousand. 

Across  the  melting  greens  of  the  yast  Caen 
plains,  from  the  heights  above  Dives,  the 
town  on  its  bright  inland  cliffs  had,  indeed, 
been    beckoning    us    with    alluring    insistence. 


lO  FALAISE 

Churches,  squares,  and  antique-faced  streets 
were,  it  was  said,  clustered  close  as  when  they 
felt  the  protective  clasp  of  stout  brown  walls ; 
the  great  fortress,  the  famous  Norman  strong- 
hold, with  brave  semblance  of  its  former  might, 
was  still  to  be  seen  fronting  the  misty  vale 
below ;  from  its  base  of  rock  to  tree-domed 
height,  the  perfect  Talbot  Tower  upsprang 
with  unimpaired  grace ;  and  the  tiny  Ante, 
dyed  now  as  in  the  long-ago  centuries  in  its 
tanner's  hues,  trickled  still  between  the  low 
banks  where  Arlette's  feet  showed  white 
ao^ainst  the  red. 

In  early  August,  horses  also,  by  the  thou- 
sands, with  their  farmer-breeders,  gathered  still 
to  join  in  the  motley  of  one  of  the  most  pic- 
turesque processions  that  ever  tramped  a 
French  high-road. 

With  such  a  journey  in  prospect,  who,  in- 
deed, would  not  be  going  to  the  Fair  at  Falaise 
in  a  Normandy  char-a-bancs? 

Had  this  project  been  but  rightly  presented 
to  that  company  of  breakfasters,  what  a  send- 
off  would  those  critical  Parisians  have  given  to 
cart  and  occupants!      William   the   Conqueror 


AN  INN   COURTYARD  II 

would  surely  have  been  right  royally  toasted 
—  a  figure  as  delectable,  for  a  second  of  retro- 
spect, as  were  the  sauces  in  which  this,  his  inn, 
have  chieflv  embalmed  his  memory.  Arlette 
would  also  have  had  a  golden  moment  of  suc- 
cess; it  was  so  long  since  any  one  had  thought 
of  her,  she  would  have  presented  herself  as 
an  absolute  noveltv.  As  for  the  horses,  ah  ! 
well,  horses  in  groups  of  thousands,  they  also 
would  be  fine  to  see  !  Who  knows,  one  may 
go  back  to  them  some  day!  Sapristil  but 
what  if  these  Americans  were  right,  after  all, 
in  choosing  to  take  a  drive  through  the  quiet 
Normandy  lanes,  in  pursuit  of  the  mediaeval 
and  the  picturesque,  in  lieu  of  speeding  to  the 
races  throuo-h  clouds  of  dust  and  banks  of 
noxious  o-ases  ? 

With  this  doubt  flecking  their  pleasure, 
every  one  of  those  Frenchmen,  to  a  man, 
would  have  risen  and  cheered  us  onward,  to 
the  echo.  They  most  certainly  would,  that  is, 
had  the  above  programme  been  but  submitted 
to  them. 

As  it  fell  out,  among  those  hundreds  of 
hreakfasters,  we  found    but   a   single   Norman 


1 2  FALAISE 

to  approve  of  either  our  project  or  our  choice 
of  equipage. 

"  Cc  que  voiis  f elites  la  —  what  you  are  about 
to  do  —  is  most  wise.  The  Fair  is  perishing 
day  by  day.  In  a  few  years  there  will  be 
nothing  to  see.  Et  d'ici-la  —  and  as  for  the 
drive  —  it  is  a  country  in  a  thousand!  The 
little  cart  will  roll  you  along  as  if  it  were  on 
wino-s.  It  is  lis^ht  as  air.  The  horse  —  he  also 
will  carry  you  well,  for  he  knows  the  road." 

When  one's  own  world  turns  critic,  the 
praises  of  even  a  hostler  sound  sweet  in  the 
ear.  But  Henri's  eulogiums,  we  swiftly  re- 
flected, must  not  too  greatly  elate  us,  for,  as 
it  happened,  he  was  the  owner  of  both  the 
horse  and  the  char-a-bancs. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    ROMANXE    OF    THE    ROAD 

/"AXCE  out  upon  the  road,  even  the 
^^-^  smoke  from  the  ever-encroaching  fac- 
tories near  bv  could  not  dull  the  fjold  of  the 
Normandy  noon.  It  was  the  sort  of  day 
when  the  sun  rays  seem  to  have  a  personal 
message  for  every  human  creature.  The  air 
was  instinct  with  a  life-giving  freshness.  One 
had  the  sense  of  movinc^  forward  through 
buoyant  waves   of   air. 

Some  comforting  rural  relics  of  older,  un- 
spoiled Norniandy  were  lining  the  banks  of 
the  Dives  canal.  On  their  knees,  beside  the 
flowing  water,  there  was  the  usual  miscel- 
laneous assortment  of  the  village  vigilants. 
The  chorus  of  the  laughing,  chattering  Dives 
laundresses  was  ever  the  same.  Xo  younger, 
no  older,  for  a  good  seven  years,  at  least,  they 
had  seemed  as  fixed   in   shape  and  outline  as 


14  FA  LA  IS E 

those  other  choruses  regularly  set  before  us  on 
operatic  boards. 

On  the  opposite  bank,  there  was  another 
figure,  equally  familiar  —  that  of  "/<;'  p'fit  sol- 
da  i''  a-fishing. 

I  never  remember  to  have  crossed  this  part 
of  the  Cabourof  and  Caen  road  without  seeins^ 
this  little  soldier  standing  there,  rod  in  hand. 
Whether  or  not  it  is  always  the  same  man  who 
is  buttoned  up  in  the  same  ill-fitting  uniform, 
I  cannot  say.  The  man  may  have  been 
changed  many  times,  have  gone  off  on  wars, 
or  long  furloughs,  or  died,  or  been  married. 
What  happened  to  the  man  I  know  not. 
From  a  non-military  point  of  view,  it  was, 
however,  the  same  little  soldier  one  saw  on 
the  green,  flowery  banks.  Of  the  same  shape 
and  size,  small,  not  too  well-modelled,  broad  of 
shoulder  and  wide  of  leg,  his  passion  for  his 
chosen  sport,  obviously,  was  not  of  the  biting 
sort.  He  held  his  rod  ever  with  the  same  list- 
less air,  as  if  to  ^^.y,''  Bieji  !  since  one  is  not 
drilling,  or  getting  drunk,  or  killing,  or  mak- 
ing love  —  ma  foi — one  might  as  well  fish." 
His    eye,   whatever    its    color,    I    noticed,    was 


THE   ROM  A  ACE    OF   THE   ROAD  15 

ever  on  the  bridge  and  the  road,  and  never, 
by  any  chance,  upon  the  Hmp  rod.  Never 
once,  in  all  the  summers  I  have  watched  it, 
did  I  see  that  curving  rod  seized  with  the 
risht  convulsive  twitchinf^  —  a  motion  so 
thrilling   to   the   true    fisherman. 

The  little  soldier,  in  his  bright  red  trousers, 
blue  coat,  belted  in  brass,  appears  to  be 
unique;  —  a  French  exhibit,  —  quite  by  him- 
self. 

Perhaps  he  came  in  with  the  Conqueror. 
The  river  Dives,  if  not  the  canal,  was  popu- 
lous with  soldiers  and  boat-builders  on  a  cer- 
tain memorable  historic  occasion.  Fishing 
must  have  been  in  the  highest  fashion  during 
the  weary  days  when  William  was  waiting  for 
the  right  winds  to  blow  and  they  would  not. 

As  if  content  with  its  high  place  in  history, 
the  river  Dives  has  never  done  an  honest 
stroke  of  work  since  the  Conquest.  It  ap- 
pears to  be  as  useless  a  stream  as  any  in 
France. 

The  straisrht,  £:av  road  to  \'araville  was 
a  livelier  companion.  •  Once  our  faces  turned 
towards    the    great    Caen    plain,    and    we    had 


1 6  FALAISE 

the  right  sort  of  roadside  company.  High 
covered  carts,  farmers,  a  herd  of  sheep  with 
some  lambs,  teaching  themselves,  awkwardly, 
how  to  skip;  a  donkey  with  empty  milk 
jugs  rattling  like  musketry  shot  along  its 
patient  trit-trotting  sides ;  and  a  swallow  or 
two,  garlanding  the  air  with  song  —  here  were 
the  very  creatures  we  had  hoped  to  secure 
as  our  fellow- wayfarers. 

A  poet  might  have  been  forgiven  had  he 
written  an  ode  to  the  day  and  the  scene.  As 
all  the  best  odes  to  the  sea,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  have  been  written  by  poets  who  felt  it 
safest  to  remain  on  shore,  for  purely  personal 
reasons,  our  poet  would  probably  have  had  a 
preference  for  motor-cycles  as  against  any  ve- 
hicle so  old-fashioned  as  a  Normandy  cart. 

Once  more  our  choice  of  vehicle  was  being- 
commented  upon.  These  critics,  however, 
who  passed  us  by,  with  amazement  writ  large 
in  their  eyes,  were  at  least  as  competent  as 
they  were  honest. 

Some  of  the  peasants  we  met  stopped  still, 
it  is  true,  as  the  thrill  of  their  wonder  shot 
through    them.       Pigs,    yes;     young     calves; 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   ROAD 


17 


ducks  and  geese  witli  their  legs  tied  ;  rabbits, 
hares  and  every  variety  of  hen  and  cock  — 
as  well  as  household  goods,  if  need  were, — 
all  these  and 
how  many  other 
thing's  or  crea- 
tures,  has  not  a 
Normandy  char- 
a-bancs  driven 
to  market?  But 
a  lady  in  white 
duck,  with  a  hat 
never  fashioned 
by  Norman  fin- 
gers, and  a  gen- 
tleman w  h  o 
drove  his  steed 
without    using  a 

single       Norman  some  Peasant  Critics. 

oath,  or   even   a 

"  Oui-da!  "  this  indeed   was   a    strange   adven- 
ture   for   a  char-a-bancs ! 

".-7 /a  Dame!  but  it's  funny!  ccst  drble ! 
Yet  it  seems  to  go  well  —  the  horse  is  a 
good    one!"     That   was   the   first  and    last    of 


1 8  FALAISE 

all  the  peasant  verdicts.  Our  earliest  critic 
stood  stock-still  on  the  flat  cross-road  we  had 
taken  to  Varaville.  He  confided  his  opinion 
to  his  young  son,  who  was  leading  a  cow. 
The  cow  and  her  driver  were  having  it  out  as 
to  which  should  occupy  the  whole  of  the  road. 
While  the  issue  was  being  decided,  and  whips 
were  crackings,  the  farmer  saw  the  chance  of 
assuaging  the  thirst  of  his  curiosity. 

"  Monsieur  and  Madame  go  perhaps  to  Caen  ? " 

The  man's  wrinkled  old  face,  with  its  eager 
agate  eyes  and  ridged  lips,  was  close  to  our 
wheel;  for  the  cow^  had  waltzed  off  with  our 
whip-lash,  and  her  owner  was  skilfully  repair- 
inor  the  damaoe. 

"No,  —  to  Falaise!" 

"  'Cre  noiii  dc  D —  /  to  Falaise,  —  it 's  a  day's 
journey.      Saprelottc  —  ccst  loin  du  pays  !  "' 

"  C  'est  loin  dit  pays  !  " 

The  words  rang  in  the  ear — as  we  rolled 
swiftly  along  under  the  fluttering  elms.  What 
fascination  of  old-time  customs,  of  homely  tra- 
ditions to  which  France  is  still  hidebound, 
lie  in  the  phrase,  for  French  rustic  ears! 
France,   that    charmer,   has   w^oven   a   web   for 


THE   ROMANCE    OE   THE   ROAD  19 

her  country-folk  stronger  than  all  promise  of 
earthly  good  elsewhere.  The  bit  of  country 
wherein  one  is  born  and  reared  ;  the  twenty- 
mile  circuit  that,  to  the  narrow  peasant-vision 
is  the  true,  the  ovXx  pays !  the  soil  where  one 
has  danced,  and  toiled,  and  where  first  love 
has  come  to  make  the  senses  sing  —  genera- 
tions of  men  and  women  have  transmitted 
the  tender  tradition  that  to  live  thus  within 
shadow  of  the  home-door  is  the  best  of  all 
portions  for  a  peasant.  To  go  away  —  loiu  dii 
pays  —  spells  expatriation  as  strongly  to  the 
Frenchman  to-day  as  it  did  a  hundred  years 
ago.  For  a  girl,  even  in  our  quick  transit 
davs  —  to  marry  out  of  her  district,  is  to  invite 
matrimonial  shipwreck.  Lc  pays  will  not  be 
near  to  watch,  to  warn,  and  to  counsel.  For  a 
man — even  an  author  —  to  leave  his  imme- 
diate neighborhood  is  for  him  to  link  arms 
with  reprehensible  adventure.  The  Midi,  for 
example,  think  you  it  was  Tartarin  alone  the 
sons  of  Provence  had  to  forgi\'e  their  Daudet .? 
It  was  his  turning  his  back  on  Mimes,  and  his 
writing  in  the  foreign  Frencli  tongue !  Mis- 
tral   under    his    olive    bouo-hs  at   Maillarme  — 


20  FALAISE 

writing  his  poems  in  Proven9ale,  here  is  the 
true,  the  ideal  figure  of  a  great  man  in  his 
right  milieu.  There  —  where  he  was  born  — 
a  Frenchman,  be  he  peasant  or  genius,  it  is 
on  his  birth  soil  he  ought  to  live  and  die. 
When  France  herself,  as  a  nation,  attempts 
to  colonize,  does  she  not  put  to  the  test,  and 
before  the  eyes  of  the  world,  the  limits  of  her 
capacity  ?  When  loin  dii  pays  she  is  ill  at 
ease,  feels  herself  to  be  on  foreign  soil,  whim- 
pers with  the  sob  of  homesickness,  and  is 
never  at  home  in  her  new-made  house,  how- 
ever fair  it  may  be. 

At  our  first  wayside  inn,  where  we  stopped 
to  ask  our  road  to  Troarn,  the  Normandy 
bar-maid,  being  of  a  younger  generation  than 
the  farmer,  and  gifted  with  the  fine  art  of 
divination,  knew  better  than  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion. She  was  only  an  inn  bar-maid.  The 
fashion  plates,  however,  having  taught  her  how 
to  wear  a  shirt-waist  and  how  to  cut  a  check- 
ered skirt,  the  pink  of  her  bodice  set  off  eyes 
and  a  dark  crown  of  hair  that  might  have  trans- 
formed even  a  realist  into  a  poet. 

We  were  to  turn  to  the  left,  and  then  straight 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   ROAD  21 

on  until  we  reached  Bures,  the  cherry  Hps  said. 
Then  they  parted  in  a  conipreliending  smile. 
What  the  eyes  said,  above  the  smile,  with  per- 
fect distinctness  was  —  "  Cette  danic  ct  cc  mon- 
sieur are  doing  this  for  a  joke,  —  or  a  bet. 
They  are  strangers.  They  have  never  seen  a 
cart  like  this  before.  They  will  drive  till  they 
are  tired.  We  shall  see  them  back  in  an 
hour."  The  dark  eyes  were  full  of  prophecy 
and  the  little  bow  of  a  well-bred  deference. 

The  next  peasant  we  met  was  of  the  newer 
order.  He  belonged  to  the  Society  of  So- 
cialists. He  accepted  the  char-a-bancs  in  good 
faith;  he  believed  in  it  as  a  pledge  of  our  prin- 
ciples; it  was  a  sign  of  better  days  to  come. 
He  was  in  the  act  of  drinking  and  he  offered 
us  a  share  of  his  cider.  It  cut  us  to  the  heart 
not  to  toast  his  liberality.  But  the  night 
waited  for  no  man;  and  we  had  still  a  good 
forty  odd   miles  before  us — we  explained. 

"  It  was  all  the  same  to  him,"  he  would  have 
us  to  understand,  and  he  drained  his  glass. 

Thus  it  fell  out  that  we  felt  ourselves  to  be 
at  home  on  the  high-road. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    CAEN    PLAINS 

HEDGES,  thick  and  dense  ;  thatched  huts  ; 
farmyards  whose  open  courtyards  con- 
tributed hvely  notes  of  color  to  the  tree-tented 
plains ;  thousands  of  moving  cattle  and  romp- 
ing horses  to  carry  the  eye  from  the  breadth  of 
meadows  to  low  heights  swimming  in  the  gold 
of  the  noon  glow  —  such  were  the  pictures  that 
were  set  along  our  roadway. 

In  these  cool  moist  plains,  noise  that,  along 
the  coast  had  plagued  the  air  as  with  tlie  clang- 
our of  a  mighty  bell,  was  softened  to  a  pastoral 
peace.  The  company  of  cows  munched  and 
moved  among  the  grasses.  From  any  one  of 
the  fields  one  could  hear  the  crow  of  the  chan- 
ticleer, a  note  as  soothing  and  significant  to 
nature-loving  Theocritus  as  to  our  own  trolley- 
car  and  electric-bell-outraged  nervous  systems. 

Few  landscapes  in  the  world  can  equal  the 
flat   pasture    lands  of    Upper    Calvados.     The 


THE   CAEN  PLAINS 


23 


"^P*" 


proximity  of  the  sea  peoples  the  sky  with  float- 
ing cloud-masses,  the  humidity  of  its  air  giving 
to  all  vegetation  a  depth  of  green  peculiar  to 
moist  climates. 

Little  by  little,  the  subtle  and  satisfying 
charm  of  this  Normandy  landscape  was  pro- 
ducinor  an  effect 
not  wholly  new 
—  to  me,  at  least. 
So  penetrating 
have  I  felt  this 
charm  to  be,  that 
in  just  such  Nor- 
mandy scenes, 
and  on  just  such 
w  a  r  m ,  balmy 
days,  I  have  had 

that  rarest  of  human  sensations, —  a  satisfied, 
completed  sense  of  perfect  enjoyment.  The 
man  or  woman  who  loves  nature,  sanely,  can  be 
made  more  entirely  content,  I  believe,  in  the 
rich  inland  parts  of  this  marvellous  Normandy 
province  than  in  any  other  country. 

Light,    space,    breadth,    we    seemed    indeed 
movino;  throusfh   a  new  world,    one    fashioned 


Across  the  Caen  Plains. 


24  FALAISE 

by  God  Himself.  Man  and  bis  many  inven- 
tions were  as  far  removed  from  tbe  spacious, 
airy  cbamber  roofed  witb  blue,  as  were  certain 
warlike,  semi-savage  sbapes  tbat,  a  shadowy 
company,  had  been  haunting  the  green  world 
walling"  our  cart-wheels. 

The  shapes  had  massed  themselves  along 
the  rido-es  of  the  heiiihts  at  our  left.  These 
phantom  forms  were  the  ghosts  of  that  forgot- 
ten army  that,  centuries  ago,  looked  down, 
alone  with  their  kino-,  on  their  soldier-com- 
rades'  fate  on  these  plains,  when  William  — 
not  yet  Conqueror  —  still  smarting  under  the 
sting  of  Bastard,  had  ridden  down  from  Falaise 
to  show  his  king  how  a  soldier  and  a  general 
who  knew  his  trade  could  wait  for  the  right 
moment,  knew  just  where  to  strike  to  hit  and 
hurt  the  hardest. 

The  ford  at  Varaville,  that  we  had  passed 
but  a  half  mile  back,  was  the  point  where  this 
wily  Norman  had  chosen  to  trap  his  king. 
King  Henry,  as  it  happened,  had  no  business, 
he  and  his  hundred  thousand,  at  Varaville. 
This  invasion  of  Normandy  being  the  second 
attack  on   William's  duchy  by  Henry,  who,  as 


THE   CAEX  P  LA  IAS  25 

it  chanced,  could  never  think  on  Normandy 
witliout  breaking  the  tenth  commandment  — 
William  had  determined  it  should  al>o  be  the 
last.  Henry  and  his  Qrreat  army  were  allowed 
to  rayage  the  land:  to  burn  what,  in  that 
nascent  eleyenth  century,  there  was  of  Caen 
to  burn  :  —  and  then,  as  the  Frenchmen  were 
on  their  way  homewards,  to  carry  spoils  and 
the  brimming  sense  of  easy  conquest  back  to 
Paris  with  them,  it  was  precisely  at  that 
moment  of  2:loatin2:  that  William  the  ayeno-er 
struck,  and  struck   unto  death. 

The  loyely  Caen  plain  was  not  as  fertile  and 
jocund  a  land,  in  those  earlier  centuries,  as  it  is 
now.  At  a  time  when  all  France  was  half  forest, 
these  great  plains  presented  the  usual  barriers 
to  a  mediasyal  army's  march.  Marshes, 
morass,  thickets,  a  jungle  of  tangled  yines  and 
wild  underbrush.  William  knew  his  own  land 
well.  It  was  such  a  wilderness  as  this  into 
which  the  young  and  wily  duke  had  let  his 
oyer-lord's  army  wander,   unhindered. 

He  and  his  own  twenty  thousand  fell  upon 
the  Frenchmen  at  their  most  helpless  moment. 
Half  the   French  army  had  crossed  the  Vara- 


26  FALAISE 

ville  ford.  The  king  and  his  bodyguard  al- 
ready had  gained  the  Dives  heights :  up  the 
green  slopes  horses  and  men  were  gayly  mount- 
ing—  the  song  of  a  bloodless  triumph  on  their 
lip. 

What  were  the  cries,  the  shrieks  for  help 
that  came  from  the  plain  ?  King  and  men 
with  one  accord  turned,  only  to  swell  in  their 
turn  the  chorus  of  pain  and  death  with  their 
own  groans  and   howls  of  rage. 

Where  had  the  Bastard  hidden  himself  — 
he  and  what  seemed  that  mighty  host  of  men 
who  were  falling  upon  the  Frenchmen  with 
the  power  of  ruthless  giants  }  Helpless  indeed 
was  that  hapless  army.  Henry  must  stand 
there,  in  his  impotent  fury,  and  watch  from  the 
low  hills  that  seemed  to  have  piled  themselves 
up  to  their  present  altitude  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  affording  the  king  a  better  view  of  the 
destruction  going  on  below,  the  great  com- 
panies of  maddened  Frenchmen  who  were 
plunging  themselves  waist-deep  into  the  murky 
waters  of  the  ford.  Behold!  —  about,  behind, 
before  them,  were  those  terrible  Normans, 
nimble  as  cats  in  their  short  tunics,  quick  with 


THE   CAEN  PLAINS  2 J 

the  lance  and  bow  as  a  cloud  to  drop  rain, 
picking  off  the  swimming,  struggling  French- 
men as  easily  as  if  they  were  but  berries, 
thrustino-  them  back  into  the  water  with  their 
lances,  and  thus  killing  them — till  the  Va- 
raville  ford  ran  blood  so  thick  it  crimsoned  the 
sea. 

Across  the  hills  Henry  and  his  army  had 
no  choice  but  to  flee,  for  William  and  his 
bowmen  were  waiting  below  to  complete  their 
work. 

It  has  taken  all  the  intervening  centuries  to 
complete  that  work.  Norman,  Englishman, 
Catholic,  Protestant,  noble,  peasant,  each  in 
turn  has  drenched  these  plains  in  blood.  Once 
more  the  Norman  now  owns  his  Norman  land. 
And  in  lieu  of  that  shadowy  company  —  of 
that  phantom  host  of  warriors,  killing  and 
killed  —  behold  the  silent  company  of  moving 
cattle,  carrying,  from  glistening  grass-lands  to 
violet-hued  tree  trunks,  their  brilliantly  lit 
hides. 

The  Caen  plains,  in  lieu  of  their  fanie  as 
a  battlefield,  have  been  renowned  for  the 
breeds  of  horses  and  cattle  raised  upon  them. 


2  8  FA  LA  IS  E 

Many  of  the  very  horses  we  were  to  see  at 
the  Fair  on  the  morrow  had  been  raised  on 
these  meadows.  The  rich  ""rasses,  the  succu- 
lent  weeds,  and  the  many  brooks  with  which 
the  plains  are  watered  have  given  a  Continen- 
tal reputation  to  these  pasture  lands. 

By  the  exuberance  of  their  spirits,  their 
joyous  plunges  and  sonorous  snortings,  the 
colts  and  horses  especially  manifested  their 
approval  of  this  open-air  cure  and  system  of 
development. 

Such  lively  companions  had  the  effect  of 
inducing  our  own  little  Normandy  stallion  to 
show  off  his  paces.  The  cart,  as  its  owner 
had  prophesied,  was  now  rolling  along  "  as 
light  as  air."  The  roads  were  as  fiat  as  a 
table.  This  new  inland  warmth  and  dryness 
in  the  air  made  the  whip  a  useless  menace. 
In  and  out  of  sunny  villages  we  were  swept 
with  a  dash  that  nearly  finished  us  —  before, 
so  to  speak,  we  were  fairly  begun. 

Two  mettlesome  Percherons,  vigorously  pull- 
ing a  huge  cart  filled  with  cider  barrels,  had 
the  stubbornness  to  hold  the  whole  of  the  road 
against  their  driver's  whip-lashing    objections. 


THE    CAEN  PLAINS  29 

Normaiid    coutrc    N'ormand — the     encounter 
was    bound    to   be    characteristic.       Our   own 
sturdy  steed,  like  his  namesake —  Henri  I\'  — 
wisely  }3layed    the   game    of    concession.      He 
appeared  to  yield  the  point  of  the  heavier  team 
keeping  to  the  safer  middle  of  a  none-too-wide 
roadway.       But    once    he    had    conceded    the 
point,    and    his    revenge    was    planned.       The 
Percherons  were  swinging  along  in  single  file, 
with    kingly    step.      Our    game    litUe    stallion 
suddenly   turned    from  his  treading  the  ditch- 
path.      He  gave  a  shriek  as  of  a  horse-devil  let 
loose,  and  the  first  kingly  Percheron  had  the 
surprise    of    his    life.     Into    his  ribs  Henri  IV 
planted  a  well-aimed  head-blow.     The  surprise 
had    the    desired    effect.     The    cider   cart  was 
promptly    swerved    to  the    left.     The  right  of 
way  once   w^on,  our  valiant    little  warrior   sped 
merrily  onwards,  as   if  hitting  horses  twice   his 
size  was  a  game  exactly  to  his  taste. 


CHAPTER    IV 

CHATEAUX    AND    CHURCH    SPIRES 

¥  T  AY-CARTS  and  char-a-bancs  rattling 
-■-  -■-  merrily  along  the  densely-shaded  roads ; 
wandering  sheep,  with  shepherds  in  their  classic 
cloaks  on  low  hillsides,  with  eyes  upon  their 
flocks ;  dogs  of  that  vagrant  variety  who  always 
appears  to  have  business  to  transact  in  a  neigh- 
boring village;  —  these  wayfarers  and  a  com- 
pany of  bicyclists  who,  like  ourselves,  were 
bound  for  the  Fair  —  such  were  the  successors 
to  the  Norman  dukes  now  to  be  met  along  the. 
road. 

Two  of  that  company  of  bicyclists  were  of 
the  neighborly,  talkative  sort.  Their  own 
wheeling  they  found  less  original  than 
ours. 

"  Ticnsr^  —  (  being  Beaux  Arts  students  from 
Illinois  they  were  quite  reckless  of  their  notice- 
ably recent  acquirements  of  the  French  lan- 
guage )    "  inais,  —  cest  d'un  chic  —  ca!  —  how 


CHATEAUX  AND    CHURCH  SPIRES         31 

had  we  ever  thought  of  it  —  and  why  hadn't  it 
been  thought  of  before  ?  Rattling  !  perfectly 
rattling  fun,  to  be  going  about  in  a  char-a-bancs 
and  with  a  Normandy  stallion!  By  Jove!  how 
he  went,  though !  how  they  all  went  —  these 
Normandy  horses!  At  the  Fair  —  there  were 
to  be  thousands,"  they  had  heard,  "  and  was  n't 
the  country  ripping!  Simply  reeking  with 
good  things,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

They  had  been  days  on  the  road,  they  said, 
sketching  and  photographing.  And  then  — 
with  a  common  impulse,  they  turned  their 
cameras  on  us,  —  quite  as  though  they  were 
doing  us  a  favor.  Before  they  remounted  — 
they  assured  us  "  they  had  us  —  down  fine  !" 
and  away  they  flew,  nodding  and  smiling,  aglow 
with  the  satisfaction  of  havinor  done  a  o;ood 
deed. 

At  least  one  of  the  statements  made  by  these 
future  American  architects  was  altosfether 
riglit.  Scarcely  a  village  but  gave  eloquent 
proof  of  having  felt  the  tremendous  impetus  of 
the  great  Norman  and  early  Gothic  movements. 
At  Troarn,  at  Argences,  at  Aloult  —  church 
towers  and  noble   Norman  or   Pointed  Gothic 


32  FALAISE 

porches  proved  the  generous  rivalry  that  had 
fired  the  eleventh,  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
century  chisels  with  the  passion  of  producing 
architectural    masterpieces. 

The  transitions  to  be  traced  from  Roman 
basilica  models  to  the  flowering^  of  the  Gothic 
—  the  earlier  thirteenth-century  work  —  you 
could  spell  out  that  wondrous  writing  in 
carvings,  where  still  lingered  pale  touches  of 
color;  or  in  rich  and  shadowy  doorways;  or 
in  arches  soaring  skyward.  Scarcely  a  ham- 
let but  boasted  of  architectural  triumphs  in 
churches,  any  one  of  which  would  have  made 
the  reputation  of  a  modern  architect  so  peril- 
ously great  as  to  have  insured  him  the  charge 
of  gross  imitation. 

One  of  the  secrets  of  the  perdurable  fascina- 
tion of  France,  lies  in  its  presentment  of  a 
collection  of  as  rich  contrasts,  within  a  limited 
area,  as  any  land  the  sun  shines  upon.  In  this 
remote  inland  country,  its  engaging  assort- 
ment of  church  spires  was  not  the  sole  sur- 
prise. Stately  chateaux  uprose  along  our 
roadway,  some  wall-inclosed,  others  as  defence- 
less as  were  the  grass-roofed  huts. 


CHATEAUX  AND   CHURCH   SPIRES  ^T^ 

One  of  these,  close  to  Valmeray,  was  of  the 
Grand  Roi  period.  Its  severe,  but  imposing 
fa9ade,  like  the  courtiers  surrounding  that 
august  monarch,  had  copied  the  style  of  that 
ceremonious  epoch.  Set  thus  in  its  rural  frame, 
within  the  narrow  margin  of  formal  gardens, 
the  meadows  and  high-roofed  hay-ricks  nea.r 
by  made  the  aspect  of  the  great  house  doubly 
formidable. 

Just  beyond  the  chateau  a  noble  avenue  of 
elms  clasped  their  upper  boughs  to  let  the 
company  of  road-fare rs  pass  on. 

At  St.  Sylvain  even  our  sturdy  little  stallion 
knew  better  than  to  rush  through  such  a  town 
at  a  gallop.  A  church  set  upon  an  eminence, 
in  the  midst  of  streets  as  alive  as  if  born  of 
American  enterprise  and  built  in  a  night,  and 
yet  of  unmistakable  antiquity,  this  was  no  town 
to  sweep  with  an  eye-glance.  The  church, 
with  its  noble  square  tower,  and  each  one  of 
the  tortuous,  gray-faced  streets  seemed  to  be 
inviting  inspection.  In  any  one  of  the  old 
houses,  with  their  gabled  ends,  timbered  fronts 
and  vine  and  flower  window-decorations,  one 
might  have  settled  down,  on   nothing  a  year. 


34 


FALAISE 


and  lived  a  life  of  peace  —  and  also  of  that 
monotony  which  passeth  all  metropolitan 
understanding. 

Caesar  was  one  of  those  who  had  no  appetite 
for  the  wonted.  His  travels  —  felicitously 
termed  conquests  —  relieved  an  existence  that 
mieht  otherwise  have  turned  into  a  form  of 
Roman  ennui. 

His  critical,  fastidious  soldier's  eye  is  said  to 
have  looked  through  the  curtains  of  his  litter, 
upon  this  part  of  Normandy  when  it  was  called 
Lisxovii.  The  traces  of  a  Roman  road,  starting 
from  St.  Sylvain,  are  still  easily  discernible. 

Old  armor,  arrow-heads,  tent  pegs,  coins,  — 
the  Norman  soil  hereabouts  has  yielded,  and 
yields  yet,  a  large  supply  of  such  relics  to  fatten 
the  Caen,  Bayeux  and  Rouen  museums.  Dur- 
ing the  five  hundred  years  of  that  now  misty 
Roman  occupation,  these  plains  and  low  hills 
were  thick  with  villas  and  gardens.  Along 
the  road  yonder  —  no  further  away  than 
Bignette  —  but  a  few  short  miles  beyond 
St.  Sylvain,  the  Romans  having  lived,  loved, 
married,  and  died,  beneath  these  Norman 
skies,   went   to    their    long   rest   in    the   tombs 


CHATEAUX  AXD    CHURCH  SPIRES  35 

lining  the  roadway  —  that  place  of  burial 
marking  the  claim  of  those  thus  buried  as 
worthy  of  enduring  fame. 

What  has  mocking  Time  written  on  those 
vanished  tombal  sites  ?  Weeds  grow  now 
where  sonorous  Latin  verse  once  made  the 
marble  sing  with  elegiac  praise. 

Past  Roman  roads,  w^ith  their  lost  or  scat- 
tered sarcophagi,  past  turreted  chateaux  we 
swept  onwards  —  into  the  land  of  the  reapers. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  was  a  land  of 
sold.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  wheat  fields. 
The  risingf  o-round  which  took  us  on  to  Brette- 
ville  showed  the  blond  landscape  to  be  at  its 
ripened  harvest  moment.  All  through  the 
fields,  men  and  women  were  bending  and  mov- 
ing onwards  with  the  rhythmic  motion  peculiar 
to  scythe  cutters.  They  bent  to  their  task 
with  the  suppleness  born  of  strength. 

Those  who  have  argued  themselves  into  the 
logical  conviction  that  France  must  be  classi- 
fied  amonGf  the  dvins;  nations  —  let  such  leave 
the  safe  seclusion  of  their  libraries  and  air  their 
conclusions  in  these  wheatfields  of  inland  Xor- 
mandv.     Not  a  harvester  was  here  who  would 


36  FA  LA  IS E 

not  have  given  his  grandsires  of  the  anti-Revo- 
lutionary days  a  shock  of  surprise.  Where 
are  the  "  beasts,"  shrunken,  shrivelled,  naked, 
dying  of  hunger  and  cold,  who,  crouched  as 
beasts  crouch,  along  the  roadside,  when  they 
rose  to  their  height,  were  yet  seen  to  be  men  ? 
Had  I  taken  no  longer  drive  than  this 
through  provincial  France,  the  sight  of  these 
sturdy,  hardy,  harvesters  —  and  a  small  army 
they  numbered  before  we  passed  the  last  of 
them  at  Bretteville  —  the  sight  of  such  as 
these  would  have  set  me  thinking.  A  nation 
that  can  recover  from  such  a  death-thrust  — 
or  a  blood-letting  —  I  '11  not  quibble  at  a 
phrase  —  as  that  of  the  Revolution,  and  rise 
from  its  bed  of  torture  stronger,  hardier, 
healthier,  sounder,  at  its  core  —  note  the  core 
—  than  in  centuries  before,  has  yet  a  few  vig- 
orous centuries  ahead  of  it,  I,  for  one,  cannot 
help  thinking. 


CHAPTER  V 

ox  THE  ROAD  TO  CAEX  AND  TOURS 

IT  was  just  beyond  Bretteville  that  we  came 
upon  a  road  as  familiar  of  feature  and 
aspect  as  is  the  face  of  a  friend.  For  my  own 
part,  the  particular  kind  of  road  before  us  I 
have  always  classed  along  with  those  friend- 
ships one  salutes  with  respect  —  and  which  one 
prefers  to  keep  at  a  distance. 

The  French  military  high-road,  of  such  ines- 
timable utility  to  France  —  to  her  farmer  even 
more  than  to  her  armies  —  presents  everywhere 
the  same  utilitarian  features.  Straight  as  the 
points  to  be  touched  will  allow,  hard  as  duty, 
bordered  by  trees  laid  out  on  a  system  whose 
meagre  shade  seems  to  delight  in  refusing  to 
carry  out  the  benevolent  but  mistaken  inten- 
tions of  the  Government,  —  the  trim  but  rigid- 
faced  military  high-road  is  the  road  of  all  others 
to  avoid  in  this  shapely  land  of  France. 


^S  FALAISE 

A  strolling  company  of  players,  abroad  upon 
the  white  macadam,  were  of  quite  another  mind. 
Their  carts  and  wagons  having  come  to  a  stop, 
the  road  was  aswarm  with  the  tatterdemalion 
brood  such  "  companies  of  the  king  s  highway  " 
exude,  in  any  age  and  in  all  lands.  Of  the 
tallest  of  the  bandit-looking  gypsies  we  asked 
our  way. 

^' Tout  droit,  nisietir — straight  ahead  — 
and  the  most  beautiful  road  in  the  world  !  " 
was  cried  out  to  us,  exultingly,  by  a  tall  gypsy 
athlete.  He  himself  was  walkinor  alono;  the 
"  most  beautiful  road  in  the  world "  with  a 
prodigious  swagger.  He  also  was  going  down 
to  the  Fair,  —  he  said  — ''  avcc  fa  —  with  that  " 
—  and  he  pointed  to  the  tent  poles,  the  tent- 
ing, and  the  picture-painted  carts.  The  latter 
were  peopled  at  every  window  and  peephole 
with  the  bristling  eyes  of  gypsy  tight-rope 
dancers,  jugglers,  and  the  Amazonian  queens 
of  the  ring  —  all  in  the  rigid  economy  of  mis- 
fits circus  performers  consider  just  the  thing 
for  the  road. 

"  With  that,  I  shall  make  a  good  week  of  it. 
At  Caen  —  ah  yes  !  we  did  a  great  business  at 


ON   THE   ROAD    TO    CAEN  AND    TOURS     39 

Caen  —  tres  s'ais  Ics  Cacnnois.  At  Falaise 
there  are  mostly  peasants  "  —  he  shrugged  his 
lean  but  tightly-muscled  shoulders  —  "  But  the 
Norman  peasant  is  rich — he  will  pay  to  see 
a  good  thing."  The  dark  head  nodded  back- 
wards, with  the  pride  of  one  who  knows  what 
he  has. 

Through  the  windows  of  the  next  cart,  two 
dusky-skinned  girls,  with  drooping  locks,  fram- 
ing small,  delicately  sculptured  features  and 
dazzling  teeth,  grinned  and  snickered. 

We  had  seen  the  best  of  the  show,  doubtless, 
and  for  nothing. 

The  gypsy's  praise  of  the  Caen  high-road  we 
conceded  to  be  not  wholly  unfounded.  The 
trees  were  at  an  age  when  benevolence  is 
the  first  of  all  virtues ;  their  shade  was  of 
the  massive,  maternal  sort.  Within  the  green 
light,  enriched  by  the  amber  of  a  setting 
August  sun,  villages  and  farmhouses  were 
suffused  with  an  indescribable  glow.  The 
land  through  the  tree  trunks,  as  luminous  as 
the  tinted  horizon,  seemed  a  blond  sea  of  light. 
Rough  and  coarsened  features  that  looked 
up    from    the    roadside,     above    wheelbarrows 


40  FALAISE 

or  ploughs,  were  momentarily  transfigured. 
Along  the  door-steps  and  stone  benches  — 
at  Langannerei,  at  Potigny,  the  village  house- 
wives, as  they  sat  and  chattered,  seemed  to 
have  taken  on  unreal,  phantasmal  outlines  and 
garments.  Caps  and  homespun  aprons  were 
dyed  as  in  a  bath  of  gold.  Timbered  house 
fronts,  the  flowers  in  their  tiny  pots,  the  very 
pigs  and  turkeys  —  not  a  feature  in  the  land- 
scape but  came  in  for  its  share  of  that  lovely 
moment  of  illumination. 

As  if  to  incarnate  the  beauty  of  the  hour 
and  its  rustic  features,  out  of  the  ripe  w^heat 
fields,  w^hose  edges  she  had  skirted,  a  milkmaid 
started  to  cross  the  road.  She  waited  for  our 
cart  to  be  gone.  The  pose  she  took,  in  that 
instant  of  repose,  was  one  that  has  been  ren- 
dered as  classic  as  that  of  the  Venus  de  Milo. 
With  full  milk-jug  poised  on  her  broad  shoul- 
der, with  arm  and  hand  outstretched  to  the  full 
length  of  the  leather  strap  attached  to  the  urn- 
shaped  Normandy  canne,  this  rustic  divinity 
had  the  same  goddess-like  nobility  of  carriage 
and  outline  Millet  has  transfixed  on  his  canvas. 
To  look  upon   his  model  thus  in  the  flesh, — 


ON   THE   ROAD    TO    CAEN  AND    TOURS     41 

in  all  the  convincing  realities  of  coarse  knit 
stockings,  work-colored  hands,  and  face  and 
open  throat  brown  as  a  nut,  was  to  see  proved 
anew  the  axiom  that  the  greatest  artists  are 
those  who  transfigure  the  commonplace  into 
the  ideal. 

As  a  substitute  for  those  wondrous  Nor- 
mandy maidens,  presented  to  us  now,  alas ! 
solely  through  the  medium  of  colored  prints 
or  such  operettas  as  "  Les  Cloches  de  Corne- 
villel''  I  recommend  this  particular  order  of 
milkmaid.  Like  the  immortal  Mrs.  Glass's 
receipt  for  jugged  hare —  first,  however,  you 
must  catch  your  milkmaid. 

Where  are  they  fled,  those  fair  young  girls 
and  opulent  featured  women,  who  formerly 
proved  the  ease  of  their  purses,  by  their  dainty 
dressing  ?  When  they  went  forth,  pillion  fash- 
ion, what  gay  striped  gowns,  shortened  to  show 
the  clocked  stockings  and  neat  heelless  slippers, 
what  coquetry  in  choice  of  apron  stuffs,  what 
rich  lace  floating  from  the  high  peak  of  their 
wondrous  headgear!  In  the  tying  of  their  very 
kerchiefs,  in  the  grace  of  the  knot,  they  thus 
proclaimed    not    only    the    universal    feminine 


42  FALAISE 

idolatry  of  dress — but  the  possession  of  a 
certain  lost  leisure.  One  must  go  as  far  as 
Aries  nowadays,  and  to  the  Sundays  of  St. 
Remy-de-Provence,  to  see  the  women  of  the 
fields  gowned  and  kerchiefed  like  queens  on 
the  one  festal  day  of  their  workaday  week. 

The  costume  of  Falaise,  as  preserved  to  us 
through  the  old  prints,  was  peculiarly  rich  in 
elaboration  of  details.  How  the  gay  ribbons, 
high  pyramidal  coifs,  and  brilliant  striped 
skirts  would  have  set  off  the  ripe  charms,  the 
melting  eyes,  and  creamy  skins  of  the  maidens 
who  bent  over  their  geranium-boxes,  in  the 
villages  we  passed,  to  see  who  were  going  to 
the  Fair. 

That  man  has  a  soul,  and  eyes,  above 
the  costume  of  the  period,  was  proved  by 
the  numbers  of  young  farmers  who  found  it 
wisest  to  go  slowly  as  they  passed  the  gera- 
nium-boxes. 

A  half-dozen  very  promising  flirtations  were 
started,  within  full  view  of  the  road.  One  or 
two  of  the  more  energetic  rustic  gallants 
temporarily  relinquished  all  thoughts  of  Fairs 
and    the    morrow.       The   scene    between    the 


ON   THE   FOAD    TO   CAEN  AND    TOURS     43 

couples  was  played  with  all  the  finish  of  a 
good  stage  performance.  The  girls  suddenly 
disappeared,  only  to  reappear  at  the  doorstep 
of  their  blooming  little  huts,  or  houses,  where 
their  adorers  were  waiting,  to  lead  them  to  the 
village  tavern-tables. 

For  we  were  nearing  Falaise,  and  the  jocund 
spirit  of  the  Fair  was  tripping  a  few  measures 
here  in  the  open  fields  and  hamlets. 

As  we  approached  Falaise  the  dust  and  the 
din  thickened.  All  the  neighboring  farmers 
whose  horses  were  being  driven  or  led  to  the 
Fair  were  crowding  the  white  ror.d.  Tree 
trunks  and  hedge-rows  were  blanched  with 
the  dust  of  the  gritty  macadam ;  men's 
faces  were  powdered  and  their  blouses  were 
whitened  with  the  loosened  particles.  The 
horses  alone,  in  their  spirited  dashes,  had  man- 
aged to  keep  the  satin  of  their  well-groomed 
coats  spotless. 

The  air  was  already  thick  with  the  voices  of 
barter  and  sale,  with  shouts  of  welcome,  with 
cries  of  recognition,  with  a  demains !  and 
promises  of  reunion,  within  an  hour,  at  various 
inns  and  taverns. 


44  FALAISE 

At  the  bottom  of  a  certain  hill,  there  was  a 
visible  slackening  of  the  speed  of  both  riders 
and  drivers.  A  girl,  whose  head  and  shoulders 
alone  were  visible  above  the  gleaming  backs  of 


A   Siiiall  CJtateau  near  Falaise. 

a  herd  of  cows  she  was  guiding,  from  one 
pasture  to  another,  across  the  road,  threw  her 
smile  backwards  to  us.  We  one  and  all  drew 
rein  to  let  her  pass.  A  rustic  groom,  astride  a 
gray  mottled  Percheron,  cut  one  of  her  cows 
with  his  whip;  for  behind  him  were  four  stal- 
lions whose  spirits  were  still  untamed  by  their 
long  cross-country  trot. 


OjV  the  road    to    CAEN  AND    TOURS     45 

"  Ah  1  Dai)u\  if  one  must  wait  for  .such  as 
these,"  cried  the  boy,  but  he  too  laughed  as  he 
kept  his  own  beasts  in  hand  till  the  girl  had 
coaxed  her  cows  to  their  home  pastures. 

"  Fine  stallions  those ! "  cried  a  man  sud- 
denly, at  our  right,  poking  his  head  out  of  a 
o-io-.  As  he  leaned  forward  he  showed  the  high 
Norman  cheek-bones,  the  keen  blue-gray  eyes, 
the  arched  nose  of  the  true  figiirc  dc  coq. 
'•  Who  sends  them  ?  "  he  cried  to  the  groom. 

"  They  come  from  Monsieur  D 's  farm." 

"Ah,  you  will  be  near  the  square,  then,  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"All  the  day  long !"  cried  back  the  groom, 
as,  his  horse  rearing,  he  gave  him  a  cut  that 
sent  him  dashing  uphill,  unhindered  by  the 
drag  of  the  horses  behind. 

Twenty  such  rendezvous  were  made  in  our 
hearing,  as  we  all  slowly  crept  up  the  hillside. 
Not  a  horse  inside  of  a  harness  or  out.  but  was 
looked  over,  commented  upon,  or  perhaps,  sil- 
ently marked  out  for  a  bargain.  Besides  the 
press  of  peasants,  of  horses,  gigs,  carts,  bicy- 
clists, and  the  regiment  of  the  town  tramp 
do2:s,  a  great  deal  of  bad  language  was  making 


46  FA  LA  IS E 

its  way  up  the  hill.  Horses  appear  to  suggest 
to  the  least  imaginative  man  the  wealth  in 
felicitous  phraseology  that  lie  hidden  in  the 
bed  of  profanity.  Scarcely  a  Norman  I  should 
say,  going  up  to  the  Fair  grounds  yonder,  but 
must  have  heard  either  his  own,  or  his  wife's 
family  referred  to  in  terms  which  men  reserve, 
as  a  rule,  for  moments  of  excitement.  Some 
harmless  but  very-much-in-the-way  old  women, 
trundling  wheelbarrows  piled  high  with  mer- 
chandise and  garden  truck,  came  in  for  some 
of  the  choicer  coinage  of  opprobrium. 

Two  handsome  wenches,  bold  of  eye  and 
of  massive  build,  suddenly  turned  a  corner, — 
and  down  the  hill  rolled  the  stream  of  oaths. 

"  '0'<?  nom,  —  if  she  is  n't  a  fine  one  ! '' 

"  No,  it 's  t'  other 's  to  my  taste.  Hey  !  Hey ! 
there!  don't  go  ofT  like  that,  —  how's  a  fellow 
to  know  you  again,  —  si  on  s  cuvolc  cojmne  ^a?  "" 

A  hundred  eyes  followed  the  somewhat  heavy 
flight  of  the  rustic  beauties.  In  peace  now 
the  old  women  wheeled  their  burdens  up  the 
hill. 


CHAPTER   VI 

FALAISE STREET     SCENES 

SUDDENLY  the  hill  widened.  Vistas 
opened  and  roads  seemed  to  spring  out  of 
unseen  valleys.  Towards  the  right  a  vast  mass 
of  wall  blocked  the  sky. 

The  mass  of  wall  took  shape  and  outline. 
The  curves  of  a  noble  tower  abutting  from  an 
outer  wall  of  masonry  defined  themselves 
broadly,  solidly,  yet  with  a  singular  grace  and 
symmetry.  The  tower  was  Talbot's  Tower 
and  the  mass  of  wall  was  the  great  fortress  — 
the  Chateau  of  Falaise. 

The  nearer  walls  of  low-browed  houses  were 
soon  closing  in  about  us,  shutting  out  that 
momentary  glimpse  of  Normandy's  famous 
stronghold. 

The  street  we  were  following,  and  those  we 
looked  into  sideways,  presented  a  captivating 
jumble  of   closely    packed   houses,  of   gardens 


48  FA  LA  IS E 

tumbling  down  steep  hills,  and  of  villas  and 
chateaux  aslant  upon  verdant  declivities. 

All  hill-towns  are  potent  fascinators.  Fal- 
aise  has  a  charm  peculiar  to  its  site.  Boat- 
shaped,  it  rode  the  valleys  on  either  side  as  a 
ship  parts  the  sea.  The  billows  of  the  green 
hillsides  pressed  and  yet  were  parted  from  the 
long  keel-shaped  cliff. 

The  farmers  and  grooms  behind  and  about 
our  wheels  had  not  come  to  Falaise,  however, 
for  the  purpose  of  commenting  on  its  shape. 
Presently  they  made  the  same  known  to  us. 

"  He!  la-bas!  On  ne  sarrete  pas  comme  (a  — 
One  does  n't  block  the  road  like  that  on  a  Fair 
day!"  and  whips  were  cracked  about  our  ears 
with  a  meaning  in  their  snap.  We  used  our 
own  whip,  in  sign  of  our  penitence. 

Crowded  indeed  was  the  square  and  the 
street  leading  upwards  to  our  inn.  Peasants, 
jockeys,  townspeople,  and  the  horses  —  hun- 
dreds of  the  latter  —  swarmed  from  surrounding 
side" streets,  swelling  the  groups  of  those  already 
over-running  the  narrow  Rue  d'  Argentan. 

The  cries  and  shouts  were  deafening.  Horses 
felt  the  contagion  of  the  noise  —  their  neighing 


^ 


FA  L A ISE  —  S TREE  T  SCENES 


51 


and  wliinnying  blent  with  tlie  throaty  treble  of 
some  donkeys  doing  chorus  work.  The  crowd 
being  a  French  crowd,  that  everybody  should 
be  talking  at  once  made  the  human  chatter 
seem  only  the  more  homely  and  familiar. 

Above,  from 
the  low-browed 
houses,  women's 
heads  were  lean- 
ing forth  as  per- 
ilously pushed 
forwards  as  the 
gargoyles  that 
had  Q-rinned  at  us 
from  the  cornice 
of  St.  Gervais, 
the  church  in  the 
square.      Below 

the  house-eaves  flags  were  flying.  Every  small- 
est cafe  and  cstaniinct  was  doing  its  one  great 
business  of  the  year.  Those  peasants  already 
seated  at  the  little  tables,  in  the  gathering 
twilight,  sipping  their  '^  soit  dc  cafc'^  or  their 
absinthe,  were  the  fortunate  ones,  for  they  had 
come  early  and  had  thus  secured  good  places. 


J  /il   S(/!tc7/c  of  St.   Uci'vais. 


52 


FA  LA  IS  E 


The  shops  Hning  the  long  high  street  were 
small ;  yet  were  they  profuse  in  window  in- 
vitations after  the  manner  of  provincial  shops; 
and  all  of  these,  also,  were  obviously  doing  a 

roaring  trade  — 
the  one  great 
week's  trade  of 
all  the  sleepy 
year.  Buyers  in 
shiny  blouses; 
women  in  thick 
black  worsted 
gowns  caught  at 
the  back  in  a 
wedge  of  gath- 
ers, suggestive 
of  past  but  not 
forgotten  far- 
thingale fash- 
ions; women  in  bonnets;  women  in  caps;  or, 
best  of  all,  wearing  their  own  thick  coil  of 
braids;  children  that  were  smaller  copies  of  the 
new  conventionalized  peasant  types,  all  of  these, 
ruddy  of  face,  eager-eyed,  serious-browed,  some 
lauo^hino;  and   chattering  like   magpies,  others 


A  Street  Scene. 


FALAISE  — STREET  SCEAES  53 

chewino;  tlie  cud  of  their  stolidity  abroad  as  at 
home,  sucli  were  the  figures  composing  the 
groups  of  the  crowds  that  made  progress  a  dif^- 
cult  art  in  that  narrow,  people-packed  street. 

Horses'  heads  were  almost  as  thickly  grouped 
about  the  tiny  cafe  tables  as  were  their  farmer- 
owners'  caps  and  blouses.  Men  bent  from  the 
backs  of  restive  Percherons  afoam  with  sweat, 
to  cry  out,  lustily: 

"  //e  !  la-bas  !  le  soil  dc  cafe  —  'vec  cognac  — 
e7itends-t7i  ?  Hey — I  say  —  ha'pennyworth  of 
coffee,  and  brandy  —  do  you  hear?  " 

Gay  were  the  greetings  interchanged  be- 
tween the  new-comers,  the  townsfolk,  and  the 
sippers  of  the  long  drinks.  These  latter  were 
seated  comfortably,  as  if  for  the  week's  enter- 
tainment, at  the  crowded  tables.  Only  the 
horses  were  restive  and  impatient.  About  their 
pointed  ears  whips  were  cracked,  but  from  a 
purely  scenic  sense  of  effect,  as  any  one  mi^ht 
see,  and  as  none  knew  better  than  the  powerful 
cobs  and  stallions,  whose  muscles  were  aquiver 
from  other  causes  than  those  born  of  fear. 

That  gossip,  however,  must  be  made  to  yield 
up  its   last   secret,   was   more   important,  even, 


54  FALAISE 

than  that  the  horses  should  be  put  to  bed. 
Jean  of  St.  Lo  could  not  be  parted,  even  for  a 
half  hour  from  Marthe-of-the-Doves*-Eyes  at 
Falaise,  till  all  the  surprises  of  the  year  had 
been  rehearsed.  How  Henri  had  died,  and 
how  little  he  left;  how  all  the  Etiennes  had 
quarrelled  before  le  vieitx  was  fairly  cold  in  his 
winding  sheet;  how  Nicolas  had  got  the  better 
of  Paul  in  the  great  law-suit;  who  hadn't  mar- 
ried whom,  and  what  the  wrong  brides'  dots 
were  —  and  certain  other  still  more  amazins: 
facts  pertaining  to  the  much-wished-for  increase 
of  France's  population,  but  in  ways  reprehensi- 
ble—  without  benefit  of  clergy  —  such  were 
the  histories  of  human  frailty,  success  and  dis- 
appointment that  the  peasants  on  horseback 
told  to  those  lolling  at  their  ease  on  the  side- 
walk,—  and  to  the  strangers  within  the  gates. 

The  noise  of  the  crowded  little  thoroughfare 
followed  us  to  our  inn.  Its  courtyard  was 
aswarm  with  visitors.  There  was  a  discourag- 
ingly  dense  pack  of  vehicles  of  all  sorts  and 
shapes,  and  centuries,  ranged  against  the  side- 
walks. Also,  the  inn  stables  were  full,  the 
hostler    afifirmed.     His  tone  was    one  of  deep 


FA  LA  ISE  -  S  TREE  T  SCENES  5  5 

reproach.  As  if  all  Calvados  —  all  France  in- 
deed, did  not  know  that  the  Falaise  inns  — 
and  of  all  its  inns,  this  one,  its  pride,  —  were 
filled  to  bursting  this  week  of  the  Fair! 

''  Poiw  Ics  chambrcs,  —  ah,  oiii  !  As  for  the 
rooms  of  monsieur,  yes,  they  are  ready,  we 
can  show  him  up  at  once.  Happily,  monsieur 
secured  them  in  time.  But,  pour  le  cheval, 
mon  Dieii,  monsieur,  —  ily  a  bien  des  chevaiix 
qui  dormiro7it  a  la  belle  etoile  cette  nutty 

It  was  indeed  at  the  sign  of  the  Beautiful 
Star  that  our  valiant  little  steed  put  up  for  the 
nisfht,  as  we  found  on  the  morrow,  when  it 
took  no  less  a  force  than  all  the  stable  yard 
could  muster  to  catch  the  gay  reveller  who,  in 
love  with  his  vasty  green  chamber,  had  taken 
a  notion  to  explore  his  domain. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TO    THE    FAIR    GROUNDS 

THE  sun,  the  next  morning,  had  obviously 
risen  with  the  knowledge  of  what  was 
expected  of  him.  Never  did  a  Fair  day  wear 
a  more  festal  aspect.  The  inn  courtyard  was 
as, gay  as  if  tricked  out  in  pure  gold.  Every- 
thing shone,  glittered,  glistened,  or  sparkled. 
The  groups  of  peasants  sitting  under  the  bright 
arbors,  dipping  their  bread  in  their  chicory, 
called  coffee,  were  obviously  under  the  spell  of 
the  fine  morning.  Gbod  humor,  and  a  genu- 
ine holiday  spirit  were  abroad  in  the  air. 

The  cries  of  hostlers  and  coachmen ;  the 
stamping  of  coach-horses,  reeking  with  sweat, 
from  their  long,  cross-country  run ;  the  loud 
calls  for  coffee  from  the  coach  owners ;  more 
carts  and  hooded  gigs  following  fast  upon  the 
coach,  —  such  were  the  cries  and  the  scene  we 
left   behind   us   in   the    little  courtyard,   as  we 


TO    THE  FAIR  GROUNDS  57 

made  our  way  up  to  the   high  street,  on  our 
way  to  the   Fair  grounds. 

It  is  at  Guibray,  an  old-time  suburb  of  Falaise 
that  the  Fair  has  been  held  these  ten  centuries 
or  more.  Now  so  completely  a  part  of  the 
town  as  to  be  practically  indistinguishable  from 
it,  yet  does  Guibray,  with  peculiar  antique 
pride,  unknown  in  modern  suburban  districts, 
maintain  its  separateness. 

The  old  town,  in  the  soft  August  light  was 
aflame  with  colors  and  contrasts.  Above  the 
Eastern  note  bright  awnings  give  to  all  the 
streets,  the  blazing  crudities  of  colored  signs, 
of  dressed  and  undressed  figures  on  the  posters 
carried  the  eye  upward  to  the  tender  grays  of 
sloping  roofs.  Under  the  stone  gabled  win- 
do  v/s  were  the  usual  high-perched  gardens  on 
the  edges  of  the  sills.  The  morning  light  was 
rioting  in  swinging  vines,  nasturtiums,  and  the 
merry  geraniums. 

From  some  of  the  richly  moulded  old  win- 
dows rustic  attempts  at  decorative  effects  were 
visible.  Flags,  rugs,  bits  of  fine  linen,  were 
hung  from  wrought-iron  balustrades,  or  from 
stone  window  ledges.     Cotton  caps,   however, 


58  FALAISE 

topping  thickly  wrinkled  old  faces,  were  the 
most  popular  Falaisian  decoration.  What 
countless  generations  of  just  such  faces  had 
looked  forth  from  these  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth century  houses  to  watch  the  peasants, 
merchants,  jockeys,  and  noblemen  go  up  to  the 
Fair  at  Guibray  ! 

Although  the  present  procession  moving  up 
to  the  Place  aux  Chevaux  was  but  a  very  poor 
show  indeed,  compared  to  what  these  experi- 
enced old  houses  had  seen,  in  the  great  days  of 
the  Fair,  the  crowd  and  the  town,  on  that 
August  morning,  tricked  one  into  the  convic- 
tion that  this  last  year  of  our  dying  century 
was  not  all  dull  commonplace. 

Look  where  one  would,  as  one  moved  on- 
ward, there  was  a  picture  for  the  eyes.  The 
vistas  opening  out  through  the  courtyards 
made  dazzling  perspectives,  with  the  sun  rays 
focussing  on  brassy  saucepans  or  mounds  of 
hay.  From  a  cluster  of  low  shop  windows  the 
eye  suddenly  took  a  plunge  of  a  hundred  or 
two  feet  downwards  to  light  on  a  stately  cha- 
teau with  well-groomed  parterres  and  correctly 
trimmed  trees. 


TO    THE   FAIR   GROUXDS  59 

Of  such  aspects  of  the  old  town,  there  was 
barely  time  for  more  than  a  glance,  for  the  stir 
and  impetus  of  the  crowd  of  horses  and  peas- 
ants kept  us  swiftly  moving  onwards. 

The  horses  were  everywhere.  They  dashed 
out  of  courtyards,  their  morning  spirits  far  too 
much  for  the  peasant  owners  and  grooms  to 
manage.  Large,  small,  old  and  young,  not  a 
creature  on  four  feet  but  seemed  to  know  it  to 
be  their  own  peculiar  day.  If  ever  horses 
proved  they  knew  how  to  celebrate  their  own 
festivity,  these  prancing,  curvetting,  dancing 
horses  did  on  their  way  to  their  Fair. 

Humanly  conscious  they  seemed,  and  as 
sensible  as  any  of  the  two-footed,  to  the  conta- 
gion of  motion  precipitated  by  their  own  pro- 
digious activity.  They  made  light  of  their 
briorht  halters.  As  for  the  curb,  thev  laughed 
it  to  scorn.  Dancing  was  what  this  morning- 
was  made  for.  To  take  a  few  steps  along  a 
forbidden  stretch  of  sidewalk,  or  to  polka  inno- 
cently but  perilously  close  to  a  timid  china 
merchant's  shop,  or  to  waltz  gayly  toward  an 
appetizing  array  of  pastry  with  only  a  shining- 
window  pane  for  protection — even  staid  and 


6o 


FA  LA  IS E 


sober  Percherons  were  not  proof  against  such 
temptations  as  these  on  such  a  day.  Only  the 
old,  the  rheumatic,  the  blind,  or  the  lame,  went 
staidly  up  to  take  their  stands  about  the  square. 


The  Apse  of  tJie  Norman  Chu}xh  of  A'oire  Dante 
de  Guibray- 

A  sharp  turn  into  a  side  street  brought  us  to 
the  great  surprise  of  the  day. 

To  hear  that  a  horse  fair  is  held  in  a 
square  before  a  church  awakens  no  particular 
thirst  of  curiosity  to  behold  the  same.  We 
banquet  daily  on  facts  drawn  from  a  world 
whose  strangeness  and  romance  are  served  up 


TO    THE   FAIR   GROUNDS  63 

to  US  with  our  morning  coffee.  The  eye 
has,  however,  preserved  a  certain  freshness  of 
vision.  Sup  though  we  may  on  horrors,  no 
man  can  look  upon  either  a  striking  novelty  or 
a  hideous  crime  without  learning  the  great 
truth  that  the  seeing  eye  remains  perennially 
young  in  point  of  impressionability. 

The  scene  before  us  was  set  with  a  naive 
disregard  of  appropriateness.  A  Norman- 
Gothic  church  stood  solidly  erect  upon  the 
hill  of  Guibray.  Its  Gothic  apse  fronted  a 
wide  suburban  street.  On  either  side,  the 
richly  carved  pinnacles  topping  the  bold 
buttresses  were  set  about  with  decorative 
roofs  and  antique-faced  houses.  Architect- 
urally, town  and  church  made  an  harmoni- 
ous blend.  It  was  on  and  below  the  wide 
parvis  that  a  strange  and  wholly  novel  scene 
made  church  and  town  play  but  a  secondary 
role. 

On  a  great  square  below  the  noble  Norman 
fabric  thousands  of  horses  were  tethered,  were 
held  in  leash,  or  were  springing  into  motion. 
Gray,  white,  mottled,  brown,  and  black  hides 
shone   in   the  AuQ:ust  sun   like  unworn   satin. 


64  FA  LA  IS  E 

Hundreds  of  men  moved  in  and  out  among 
this  army  of  horses. 

Up  to  the  very  church  walls  the  merchants 
had  planted  their  merchandise.  To  long 
wooden  poles  hundreds  of  horses  were  teth- 
ered. Sheds  were  built  so  close  to  the  but- 
tressed sides  that  their  stretched  canvases 
seemed  an  integral  part  of  the  whole. 

The  lovely  structure  was,  indeed,  the  pivotal 
point  about  which  centred  all  the  stir  and 
whirl  of  the  Fair.  Horses'  necks  were  as 
close  about  the  iron  railings  as  berries  on  a 
stalk;  across  their  backs  a  child  might  have 
walked  and  come  to  no  harm,  so  tightly  wedged 
were  the  flanks  that  stood  ranged  in  line,  fac- 
ing the  church's  walls.  The  church  itself,  so 
far  from    beino-   held  aloof  from   this  scene   of 

O 

barter  and  sale,  was  very  much  a  part  of  the 
whole  performance,  so  to  speak.  Its  gable  end 
and  Gothic  porch  were  festooned  with  gar- 
lands. Across  its  gray-faced  walls  scarlet 
cloths  hung  loose  to  the  caprice  of  the  wnnd. 
Flagstaffs  were  planted  in  the  flying  buttresses, 
and  the  Tricolor  wound  and  unwound  its 
flexible  coils  about  the  lace  of  Gothic  finials. 


TO    THE   FAIR   GROUNDS  65 

This  festal  note  of  color,  we  learned  later,  had 
been  a  part  of  the  decorations  in  honor  of  the 
installation  of  the  new  parish  cure.  It  w^as 
greatly  to  the  advantage  of  the  picturesque 
ensemble  that  the  parish  had  delayed  the  re- 
moval of  the  firs  and  bunting. 

This  note  of  festivity  \vas,  indeed,  clearly  the 
accepted  key  in  which  were  set  the  graver  com- 
mercial transactions.  These  sober  Normans 
had  not  walked  or  driven  hundreds  of  miles  to 
go  to  a  Mass.  Even  in  an  ordinary  horse  trade 
a  joyous  note  goes  always  along  with  the  bar- 
eainino-.  In  such  transactions  some  one  is 
certain  to  have  profited  at  his  brother's  ex- 
pense. Men  are  still  singularly  nai've  in  their 
prompt  instinctive  impulse  to  celebrate  such  a 
victory.  Here  at  Guibray,  for  the  whole  of  a 
week,  horse-trading  and  buying  were  in  the 
vcrv  air,  —  was  it  a  matter  of  wonderment 
that  laughter  and  merriment  crowded  out  even 
crabbed  Norman  greed  ? 

The  great  square  was  as  gay  as  a  bridal. 
But  a  fair  is  better  than  a  wedding  ;  it  is  more 
to  the  Norman  taste.  Long  slow  talks;  long 
slow    bargains;     above    all,    long    slow    drinks 


66  FA  LAIS E 

—  these  are  the  processes  best  suited  to  the 
keen,  yet  careful  Norman  wits,  and  to  their 
deeply-veined   sensuousness. 

In  these  earlier  days  of  the  Fair,  the  friend- 
lier, gayer  aspects  of  peasant  life  and  character 
were  the  more  obvious  presentments.  Every 
one  was  in  high,  good  humor.  The  bright, 
clear  skies,  the  sparkling-eyed,  ruddy-cheeked 
girls  and  women ;  the  eager  dashing  horses ; 
the  cheers  and  toasts  ringing  up  from  the  cafe 
tables  encircling  the  Fair  grounds;  —  all  these 
elements  contributed  to  a  general  feeling  of 
high  enjoyment. 

As  we  moved  in  and  out  about  the  groups, 
a  certain  elation,  an  extraordinarily  agreeable 
sense  of  pleasurable  excitement  grew  up  with- 
in. Imperceptibly  one's  own  identity  was  lost ; 
one  became  a  part  of  the  scene,  an  actor 
among  actors,  partisan  of  all  the  magnificent 
statements  made  or  refuted  in  the  teeth  of  the 
splendid  merchandise  walking  about  on  four 
feet. 

Each  group  of  men  and  horses  represented 
a  different  variety  of  man  and  horse.  No  two 
were   alike;   they   were   as   infinite    in   present- 


TO    THE   FAIR   GROUNDS  6 J 

nient  of  composite  qualities  as  only  heredity 
and  selection  can  break  up  and  re-set  the 
human  and  animal  types. 

Out  of  the  inextricable  mass  one  began  to 
discern  signs  of  a  certain  rude  order  in  the 
proceedings.  Out  on  the  square,  above  the 
long  balustrades,  tall  posts  were  planted ;  on 
these  latter  wooden  squares  were  nailed. 
There  were  signs  bearing  the  words  "Saddle 
Horses,"  "  Brittany  Horses,"  "  Normandy 
Horses,"  etc.  Beneath  the  posts  the  horses  of 
each  class  were  grouped. 

One  could  thus  pass  in  review  and  at  one's 
leisure  the  several  unique  breeds  of  horseflesh 
classified  under  the  distinctive  heads  of  the 
Anglo-Norman  and  the  pure  Normandy  horse. 
One  could  trace  even  the  effects  of  cross- 
breeding—  go  from  stock  to  stock,  comparing, 
criticising,  weighing  faults  and  qualities. 

The  three  most  prominent  groups  were  the 
three  varieties  of  horseflesh  bred  and  raised 
in  the  Normand)-  stud  farms  and  pastures : 
the  Norman  horse  —  the  ideal  carriage  and 
saddle  horse ;  the  chcval  Breton  —  reared  in 
the   moist   pastures  close   to    Brittany,   bought 


68  FALAISE 

not  only  by  the  French  Government  but  by 
German  and  Italian  officers,  for  artillery  pur- 
poses ;  and  certain  crossed  varieties  of  the 
Norman  draught  horse  and  mare  that  furnish 
the  omnibus  and  tramway  companies  of  Paris 
with  their  best  and  most  lastino^  "  bussers." 
Of  these  varieties  there  were  thousands  from 
which  to  choose.  The  Percherons,  whose  verv 
name  stands  as  a  synonym  for  the  king  of  all 
draught  horses,  were  to  be  traced  in  all  stages 
of  youth,  age,  and  decay.  At  every  turning 
of  the  glance  the  eyes  would  light  upon  the 
scene  familiarized  to  all  the  world  by  Rosa 
Bonheur's  masterly  presentment  of  Percherons 
in  full  action,  ridden  by  peasant  grooms ;  pic- 
tures instinct  with  high  animality  of  stir  and 
motion,  luminous  in  color,  and  as  rich  in 
contrast  of  grouping  as  the  groups  were  in- 
finite in  attraction. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


HORSE-TRADIXG 


DOCILK  as  were,  for  the  most  part,  this 
vast  concourse  of  horses,  once  released 
from  tlie  imprisoning  chain  or  rope,  and  their 
mettle  showed  itself.  The  square  of  the  bald 
earth  was  everywhere  sending  up  light  clouds 
of  dust  raised  by  prancing,  rushing,  trotting 
horses. 

A  magnificent  stallion,  kicking  up  the  dust 
behind  his  clean  hoofs,  was  carrying  a  peasant 
groom  hanging  on  the  rope-bridle,  along  with 
an  irresistible  rush. 

Some  women  from  upper  windows  laughed 
down  upon  the  lad  and  his  frantic  efforts  to 
keep  his  feet  upon  the  ground.  Two  serious 
peasants,  briskly  walking,  talking  as  they 
quickened  their  pace,  had  only  eyes  for  the 
splendid  creature,  as  he  swept  along,  his  mus- 
cles all  in  play. 


70 


FA  LA  IS  E 


Grooms  in  scarlet  or  green  vests,  with  gaudy 
neckties,  —  the  uniform  of  the  national  stud, — 
were  astride  of  glossy-skinned  beasts  whose 
quieter-trained    paces    were    being    judged    by 

smartish  buyers 
in  top  hats  and 
white  waist- 
coats. 

At  every  turn- 
ing of  the  glance, 
sudden  breaks 
were  being  made 
by  men  away 
from  the  central 
groups.  Lads 
with  open  shirts, 
showing  bronzed 
sinewy  necks, 
and  faces  aflame 
with  excitement,  would  throw  a  leg  across  a 
horse's  back  only  to  find  themselves  astride  his 
neck,  or  over  it.  To  the  shouting  chorus  of 
rude  laughter,  the  rope-rein  would  be  seized 
anew,  and  once  again  the  amateur  jockey  would 
strive  to  hold  his  seat. 


Some  Bit  vers. 


HORSE-TRADIXG  71 

Into  these  short  trial  trips  the  horses  them- 
selves entered  as  if  witli  conscious  zest  of 
enercry.  Before  the  short  rider's  whip  could 
touch  them,  they  were  off,  their  movements  full 
of  life,  their  impetuous  dashes  into  by-streets 
and  the  upper  and  smaller  square  bringing  into 
play  all  their  spirit  and  muscular  power. 

Stout,  serious-browed  men  in  long  driving 
coats  were  in  thick  groups  about  the  rows  of 
horses  whose  giant  flanks  and  rich  fetlocks 
proved  their  Percheron  breeding.  The  chcval 
Breton  —  the  Brittany  horses  —  and  the  Per- 
cherons  were  the  coveted  prizes,  not  only  for 
French  buyers,  but  for  export. 

Two  fair-haired  Swedes  were  lifting  the 
great  hoofs  and  pulling  down  the  lips  of  two 
Brittany  colts,  whose  mottled  gray  hides  shone 
like  figured  satin  in  the  noon  sun.  Some 
French  officers  in  uniform,  their  waxed  mous- 
taches high  in  air,  had  the  nonchalant  ease 
of  saunterers,  as  they  passed  from  group  to 
group  of  the  tethered  beasts. 

"  They  are  going  to  buy.  later,  for  the  Gov- 
ernment," we  heard  it  whispered  as  we  passed 
them. 


']2  FALAISE 

Some  Italians  were  unmistakable  purchasers; 
a  half-dozen  Bretons  were  being  put  through 
their  paces,  while  the  two  gentlemen  —  possi- 
bly from  Verona  —  so  far  forgot  to  wear  the 
thin  disguise  of  their  atrocious  French  as  to 
turn  critic  in  their  own  fluent  tono-ue.  Close 
to  these  latter  were  the  buyers  of  one  of  the 
great  French  tramway  companies,  and  about 
these  there  circled  an  ever-thickening  group  of 
bloused  farmers  and  horse-raisers. 

A  brigandish-looking  individual,  of  generous 
girth,  with  piercing  black  eyes,  was  telling 
two  shrewd,  clever-faced  Normans  that  they 
were  trying  to  make  him  party  to  a  ''sale 
affaire''  —  to  a  "nasty  bargain."  The  "bar- 
gain "  was  a  string  of  Percheron  colts  as  hand- 
some a  looking  lot  of  cattle  as  any  among  the 
four  thousand.  The  gentleman  from  the  Midi 
had  that  talent  for  using  words  imaginatively 
which  is  the  gift  of  the  brothers  of  Tartarin. 

"  There  's  a  horse  for  you  —  grand  action  — 
that!  and  reliable  —  I  tell  you — an  infant  in 
arms  could  ride  him  !  "  a  peasant  close  by  us 
was  saying,  with  quiet  pride  in  the  noble  brute 
his  peasant  groom  was  trotting  past  us  —  the 


MORSE-  TRADING 


I  J 


latter's   loose  shirt  ballooning   behind   hnn,  as 
the  steed  dashed   round  a  street  corner. 

"  You    want     something    cjuiet    to    drive    in 
sinorle  or  double  harness  ?      Come  this  way.  my 


Tliis  way^  my  friend ^ 


friend — par  ici,  luon  ami — I  have  tlie  very 
thing  —  young  —  strong  —  solide  !  Ail  mais 
je  V021S  Ic  dis,  inoi — flanks  like  oak  "  and  the 
gentlemanlv-looking  Norman,  whoso  l3louse 
seemed  worn  as  a  mask  for  disguising  his 
opulent  state  of  bodv  and  presumablv  of  ]nn-se. 


74 


FALAISE 


swept  his  customer  up  the  low  incHne  towards 
a  row  of  horses  tethered  beneath  the  western 
church  porch.  The  horse  shown,  w^e  re- 
marked, seemed  not  to  beUe  the  owner's  praise 
of  him. 

But  there  were  others.  There  were  long 
rows  of  martyrs  —  the  martyrs  of  this  and 
countless  other  seasons.  About  such  groups, 
we  noted  fewer  buyers  and  a  degree  of  elo- 
quence and  a  passion  of  protestation  un- 
matched elsewhere. 

"That  horse  spavined  —  and  blows — you 
say  —  vous  mc  dites  cela,  voiis  ?  Sacre  nom  de 
but  I  will  show  you  if  he  is  an  accor- 
dion ! "  and  the  maligned  mare  was  quickly 
mounted. 

"Go,  ma  belle  —  go  then  —  and  show  to  the 
world  thy  lungs  of  an  elephant  "  and  the  mare 
with  the  elephantine  lungs  breathed  soft  as 
any  sucking  dove  —  for  a  good  five  minutes' 
run.  Then,  when  she  began  to  play  her  ac- 
cordion tunes,  her  wary  Norman  turned  actor. 
He  brought  his  beast  to  a  sharp  halt,  as  he 
mopped  the  drops  of  moisture  from  his  clever 
brow. 


HOA'SE-  TRA  DING  7  5 

"She's  been  sold  five  times  already  —  and 
returned  as  often,"  smiled  a  squat,  cross-eyed 
peasant  at  my  elbow. 

"  She  must  make  a  good  deal  of  money  for 
her  owner." 

"I  believe  you  —  she  is  better  than  a  bank 
balance,  that  one,"  and  the  squat  shoulders 
shook  their  laughter  in  the  teeth  of  the  money- 
making  mare.  A  few  minutes  later  we  found 
our  critic  himself  in  the  full  frenzy  of  a  sale. 
He  was  pointing  to  a  horse  in  the  last  stages 
of  decay. 

"Done  for  —  this  one!  He  is  as  strong  as 
an  ox,  I  tell  you.  Underfed,  perhaps,  I  grant 
you  — je  lie  voiis  dis  pas  non  —  and  then  I  've 
been  making  him  work  a  bit,  but  sick,  never! 
Au  grand  jamais  !  He  will  never  have  an 
illness  —  this  one  !  "  Never  but  one  —  my 
friend  —  only  one,  before  dying  of  old  age 
and  starvation. 

A  group  of  Lilliputian  asses,  with  bright 
bits  of  scarlet  and  yellow  in  their  bridles  were 
tethered  away  from  the  main  mass  of  horses  — 
to  balustrades  placed  close  to  the  house  fronts. 
As  thev  swung  their  tiny  heads,  the  bells  they 


76  FA  LA  IS E 

wore  rang  in  rude  unison.  Their  keeper  was 
a  striking  figure  among  the  florid,  roseate-hued 
Normans  with  their  sombre  blouses.  Over  a 
bright-colored  vest  and  loose  jacket,  the  hand- 
some lad  wore  a  light  cloak.  In  his  pale  gray 
felt,  of  sombrero  breadth  of  rim,  a  gay  feather 
was  stuck,  and  his  rusty  brown  stockings  were 
laced  to  the  knee  with  rope-lacings.  When 
the  Provengal  "  Zc-Ze "  ricochetted  his  bas- 
tard French,  it  needed  not  the  boy's  rich  eye 
tints  and  swarthy  skin  to  betray  his  southern 
heritage. 

"He's  from  Marseilles  —  he  comes  every 
year,"  an  innkeeper  announced  pompously 
from  his  arched  doorway  —  to  let  us  know 
the  Fair  drew^  men  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth. 

"  Does  he  drive  the  creatures  —  les  betes  —  up 
here  ?  " 

''  Dieu  que  non  !  they  come  by  train  —  they 
are  like  sheep  for  goodness." 

Awav  rano-  the  bells  of  the  Midi,  from  the 
asses'  necks,  in  a  merry  jingle,  as  if  chorussing 
their  Te  Deum  of  thanks  at  the  invention  of 
steam    that  makes  of    long    journeys    a   single 


IfORSE-  TRA  DING  7  7 

nioht  of  travel.  Their  driver  chanijed  his 
posture,  from  a  standing  on  one  laced  leg  to 
the  other,  threw  back  his  handsome  head,  and 
turned  his  disdainful  eye  on  the  crowds  circ- 
ling about  the  horses.  The  eye  of  the  Midi 
is  a  speaking  eye.  And  that  dark  orb  from 
Marseilles  said,  as  loud  as  if  its  speech  had 
been  a  blast  through  a  trumpet,  that  men  who 
bought  horses  instead  of  asses  were  no  better 
than  mules. 

A  fair  young  keeper  of  a  group  of  asses  and 
donkeys  who  had  taken  her  stand  somewhat 
away  froni  the  crowd  was  a  more  successful 
vendor.  The  quiet  self-possessed  grace  of 
this  girl  whose  merchandise  lay  in  donkeys 
would  have  made  her  a  success  in  other 
and  higher  places  than  her  improvised  stall 
against  a  hedge-row.  There  were  buyers 
in  plenty  about  the  quiet  group.  When 
we  passed  her,  a  little  before  high  noon,  she 
was  making:  her  last  entrv.  She  had  sold  her 
lot. 

"  Where  are  they  going,  did  you  ask, 
Madame?  To .near  Paris,  to  the  Res- 
taurant   in    the    Tree.      Parisians  like    that,   it 


78 


FA  LA  IS  E 


appears  —  a  donkey-ride  before  dinner  is  a 
good  digestive"  —  and  she  snapped  her  silver- 
mounted  account  book.  Still  she  smiled  as 
she    laid    her   light  whip   across  her  donkey's 


A  Sale  of  Donkeys. 


back  —  for    there    was     another    question    we 
could  not  forbear  asking. 

"  And  where  do  I  o;o  now  .?  Oh  !  for  more 
donkeys  —  nous  faisons  toutes  Ics  f aires  —  we 
q:o  to  all  the  Fairs  —  till  the  season  is  over  — 
allons,  /a,  —  What  are  you  about.''"     The  whip 


HORSE-  TRA  DING  7q 

came  down  on  an  over-ambitious  donkey's 
back,  whose  gormandizing  instinct  had  led 
him  into  a  near  garden,  —  with  the  sure 
touch  of  one  who  knew  the  one  raw^  spot 
and  how  to  find   it. 


CHAPTER    IX 

WOMEN    VENDORS 

WOMEN  were  to  be  met,  indeed,  all  over 
the  Fair,  and  as  much  at  home  as  if  in 
their  own  barnyard  or  kitchen. 

In  this  great  Republic  of  women,  where  the 
sex  for  centuries  has  acquired,  through  the 
most  venerable  of  laws  —  that  of  custom  — 
the  right  to  transact  any  business  or  to  sell 
any  article  or  object  sold  by  men,  not  a  Fair 
in  France  but  proclaims  the  equality  of  the 
sexes.  In  the  Horse  Fair  at  Guibray  every 
right  —  except  some  of  those  granted  bylaw 
—  demanded  for  woman  by  her  suffragist  sis- 
ters elsewhere,  is  hers.  She  has  won  and  holds 
her  place  clown  among  the  horses. 

There  were  a  dozen  or  more  horse-traders  — 
of  the  so-called  weaker  sex,  in  among  the 
groups  of  horses  and  men  at  the  Fair. 

Just  why  a  passion  among  women  for  a  rais- 
ing   and  selling  of   horseflesh  should  tend  to 


IVOMEX    VENDORS  8  I 

the  cTOwth  of  a  formidable  pair  of  nioustachcs 
I  know  not.  Yet  even  their  own  horses  hardly 
dared  to  look  these  hirsute  ladies  in  the  eye. 
Perhaps  for  the  same  reason  their  peasant  hus- 
bands wore  a  saddened,  deprecatory  air. 

These  feminine  dealers  in  horseflesh  had 
not  put  aside  all  their  women's  wiles,  however, 
when  they  took  the  whip  in  hand. 

A  jolly-faced  Provengal,  who  was  on  the 
look-out  for  a  good  "carter"  was  seized  upon 
by  a  short  squat  peasant,  whose  muslin  cap 
and  woman's  skirts  alone  proclaimed  her  sex 
—  until  she  spoke.  Then  she  was  twice  a 
woman  —  for  she  was  French. 

"  Ah  !  monsieur  —  here  you  are  —  at  last  I 
I  have  been  waiting  for  you.  No,  I  would  not 
sell  —  although  they  have  been  pestering  me 
all  the  morning!  No,  I  said — I  await  Mon- 
sieur Gaspaud,  from  the  South  —  he  knov>s  a 
ofood  thi nor  when  he  sees  it — and  here,  mon- 
sieur,  here  is  your  horse!  Ah  !  what  do  you 
think  of  that,  hein  !_  Strong  enough,  I  hope  — 
look  at  the  power  of  him!  what  shoulders! 
hey  .^  — and  flank>  ?  and  his  coat  —  where  do 
vou    find   a   coat  like   that.''      And   \ices  —  not 


82  FA  LA  IS  E 

one!  It  is  I  —  I  myself  who  have  bred  him 
for  you.  Ah  monsieur !  but  it  breaks  the 
heart  to  part  with  a  horse  like  that  !  " 

Then  was  the  comedy  of  sentiment  played 
out  to  its  finish.  A  stout  checkered  handker- 
chief was  produced ;  a  resounding  blast  was 
skilfully  managed,  and  the  two  ferrejt  eyes  were 
conscientiously  wiped  of  a  moisture  which 
might  indeed  have  surprised  them  —  had  it 
been  there. 

The  Proven9al  was  only  a  man.  He  walked 
away  with  the  horse. 

A  sister  trader  joined  the  happy  saleswoman. 
"  And  so  you  got  rid  of  your  gelding  1  " 

"Yes,  and  a  good  thing  it  was,  too — I've 
been  blistering  him  this  fortnight."  The  two 
laughed  above  their  coarse  homespun  aprons, 
their  muslin  caps  nodding  in  concert,  as  their 
tall  whips  shook  in  their  vein-ribbed  hands. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  this  scene,  with  its  sug- 
gestive Teniers  coarseness  and  humor,  was 
another  of  the  true  modern  high-life  gejtre. 

Into  our  inn  courtyard,  one  noon,  a  smart 
cart  rattled.  The  spirited  little  cob  had  been 
skilfully   reined    in    at    just    the    right    instant 


WOMEN   VENDORS  8 


o 


to  prevent  collision  with  an  officer  in  uniform 
whose  mount  was  less  amenable  to  discipline 
than  that  of  the  new-comer.  An  upward 
glance  of  the  lady  whip  —  and  her  lips  parted. 
As  she  smiled  her  recognition,  she  leaned  for- 
ward across  her  dashboard. 

''  Quelle  chance  —  bou  Dicii,  quelle  chance  ! 
Figtirez-vous  —  imagine  to  yourself  —  cher 
capitaine,  that  I  drove  over  this  morning  — 
yes  —  all  the  way  from  Benonville.  Matinale? 
At  dawn,  I  tell  you,  at  dawn  I  rose  —  to 
eet  to  this  wretched  fair  —  and  for  what 
if  you  please,  but  just  this!  To  find  you  — 
yes  —  you,  and  to  have  you  pick  me  out  a 
saddle-horse.  Mine  has  gone  lame —  I  broke 
his  knee,  I  fear,  the  other  day,  at  Deauville.  I 
heard  there  were  some  fine  mares  for  sale  here 

from   Monsieur  A "s  stud-farm — and  here 

I  am  ! 

The  lady  had  sprung  to  the  ground,  had  put 
her  whip  in  its  socket,  had  caressed  her  veil  to 
rights,  and  shaken  hands  with  her  captain, — 
all  at  one  and  the  same  instant — as  it  seemed. 

In  the  same  instant  she  had  discovered  our 
own    little  group,  and   was  soon   a   part   of   it. 


84  •  FA  LA  IS E 

What? — we  also  had  come  all  the  way  from 
Dives,  and  not  even  to  bu)'  horses  —  merely  to 
see  them?  Ticns  !  —  it  appeared  that  this 
Horse  Fair  was  worth  seeing,  after  all?  How 
had  we  over  there  in  America  (the  "over 
there  "  was  done  with  a  gesture  which  relegated 
America  to  the  beyond-of-the-grave)  how  had 
we  ever  managed  to  hear  of  the  Fair  of  Gui- 
bray  ?  Astonishing,  sin^iply  astounding — we 
Americans!  She  thereupon,  gave  us  a  facial 
proof,  by  the  lifting  of  her  expressive,  finely- 
curved  eyebrows,  and  a  widening  of  her  large 
eyes,  of  the  mental  effort  within  to  conceive 
of  such  folly  as  ours  being  committed  by  a 
Frenchman  —  much  less  by  a  Frenchwoman. 

With  a  grace  that  revealed  centuries  of 
charming  ancestresses  trained  to  the  art,  she 
proceeded  to  make  use  of  our  inconceivable 
folly  —  and  the  experience  gained  by  it. 

Would  we  show  her  the  Fair?  Would  we 
really  take  her  in  among  all  those  horses,  and 
peasants,  and  grooms  ?  Were  we  sure  it  was 
not  danorerous?  Not  too  unbearablv  dirtv? 
Dicii  !  what  a  frolic  !  She  proceeded  promptly 
to  thank  the  good  God  for  having  inspired  her 


WOMEX   VEX  DORS  85 

to  get  up  at  dawn,  for  having  prompted  lier 
to  be  sufficiently  audacious  to  take  that  long- 
drive  across  country,  just  because  she  knew 
Captain  X.  was  stationed  here  and  bought 
horses  for  the  Government  —  and  therefore 
might  be  trusted  to  help  her  pick  out  a  good 
jumper. 

The  lady  and  the  laces  of  her  salmon  pink 
petticoats  made  the  tour  of  the  Fair  in  safety. 
It  was  after  the  noon  breakfast  we  in  our  turn 
were  taken  to  see  the  buying  of  her  hunter. 

For  the  best  thoroughbreds,  as  a  rule,  one 
must  go  further  than  Falaise  ;  one  must  go  as 
far  north  as  DozAile,  to  the  stud-farm  of  Mon- 
sieur le  Monnier,  or  to  the  famous  racing  stables 
of  Monsieur  Aumont  at  Victot,  near  IJives. 
In  these  and  other  stud-farms  in  Normandy 
many  of  the  horses  are  raised  which  are  the 
future  race-winners  at  Chantilly,  at  Auteuil, 
and  Longchamps.  Some  Norman  thorough- 
bred mares  and  stallions  are,  however,  shown 
at  Guibray.  These  choice  animals  are  not, 
quite  naturally,  to  be  found  among  the  com- 
mon groups.  One  is  taken  to  view  such  with 
a  certain  degree  of  ceremony. 


86  FA  LA  IS E 

A  smart  groom  piloted  our  party  away  from 
the  noise  and  dust  of  the  Fair  orround  down 
a  quiet  by-street  to  a  more  or  less  distant  and 
more  or  less  private  stable.  Here  in  a  large 
commodious  stall  we  were  shown  a  remarkably 
beautiful  mare  —  a  thoroughbred  hunter,  win- 
ner of  a  prize  for  jumping.  The  lady  of  the 
chateau,  after  a  masterly  investigation  of  the 
mare's  points,  bought  her  on  the  spot. 

"  Buying  a  horse  is  like  getting  married  — 
if  you  find  v/hat  you  like  —  seize  it  at  once.  If 
you  hesitate,  you  are  lost,"  was  the  lady's 
laughing  rejoinder  to  the  Captain's  comment 
on  her  precipitancy. 


u 


^ 


CHAPTER   X 


THE    FAIR    OF    BOOTHS 


THE  lady  of  the  chateau  was  in  no  sense 
a  remarkable  figure  at  the  Fair,  except 
in  so  far  as  a  beautiful  woman  is  always  re- 
markable and  remarked. 

The  streets  earlv  iu  the  morning"  were  full 
of  carts  filled  with  knick-knacks,  or  piled  high 
with  farm  products,  trundled  by  women. 

Great  families  of  women  of  a  Biblical  strength 
in  numbers  filled  chars-a-bancs  to  overflowing. 
Once  near  the  Fair,  the  women  could  be  seen 
thriftily  tuniinfi:  into  a  side  street  towards  the 
open  meadows.  Here,  in  a  friendly  field,  the 
cart  would  be  swung,  siding  up  to  other  carts, 
one  of  the  younger  women  springing  down  to 
hold  the  restive  horse  or  mare,  as  old  and 
young  dismounted.  Then  did  the  Xorman 
peasant  woman  show  the  skill  and  power  that 
conie    with    the   hard   labor    of  a    farm       The 


go  FA  LA  IS  E 

horse  was  unharnessed  in  a  jiffy;  the  cart  rolled 
closer  to  the  others  as  if  it  were  a  bunch  of 
feathers;  —  one  girl  going  for  a  bucket  of  water, 
while  others  took  out  the  bag  of  oats,  the 
bundles  of  hay,  —  for,  at  the  inn  yonder,  there 
must  be  nothing  to  pay  for  the  horse's  keep 
save  the  two  sons  for  his  stall. 

Up  beyond  the  church  and  its  Place  atcx 
Chevaiix,  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the  Fair 
booths  are  placed  —  it  was  there  the  women 
were  to  be  seen  in  their  "'reatest  force.  Amono- 
the  dealers  in  china-ware,  in  cheap  laces,  and 
cheaper  silks,  in  under-wear,  and  in  those 
thousand  and  one  gimcrack  absurdities  whose 
chief  and  sole  uses  appear  to  lie  in  making 
modern  fairs  as  tawdry  as  most  of  the  articles 
offered  for  sale  are  valueless,  the  saleswomen 
outnumbered  the  men  ten  to  one. 

Old  faces  there  were,  whose  sallow  skins 
were  ripened  to  a  brighter  orange  by  the  snow 
of  the  white  cotton  caps.  Wrinkled  as  crum- 
pled leaves  though  some  of  these  women's 
faces  and  hands  might  be,  strong  and  sono- 
rous would  be  the  voice  throuo^h  which,  above 
the  din   and   hubbub,  you  were  appealingly  in- 


UniiilfHfB^ 


"By  the  slice,  Madame.'' 


THE   FAIR   OF  BOOTHS  93 

formed  that  you  could  buy  your  melon  by  the 
slice. 

"  A  la  coupe  —  a  la  coupe,  Madame^  —  by 
the  slice — by  the  slice,  Madame!  Where  are 
such  slices  to  be  had  ?  " 

In  among  these  groups  of  booths,  the  hub- 
bub and  din  were  of  another  order  of  sound 
than  those  to  be  heard  on  the  church  square. 
The  noise  was  shriller,  the  voices  being  chiefly 
soprani.  Along  with  this  lighter  quality  of 
tone  one  felt  a  more  debonair  spirit  of  gayety 
abroad  beneath  these  striped  awnings  and 
huge  scarlet  umbrellas.  The  selling  of  cheap 
silk  remnants  from  the  great  Lyons  ware- 
houses, or  of  butter  and  eggs,  are  acts  not  so 
fraught  with  possibility  of  tragic  surprises  as 
is  the  buying  of  horses.  Even  the  officers 
regained  their  spirited  gayety  of  step  when 
buying  Egyptian  cigarettes  of  a  fez-hatted 
Greek  from    Paris. 

Every  article  of  consumption  a  farm  can 
produce  was  temptingly  spread  out  beneath  the 
sheds  and  huge  umbrellas.  Women  pointed 
to  their  geese  with  the  pride  of  expert  raisers  ; 
the  merits  of  cheeses  were  sunir  in   no  uncer- 


94  FALAISE 

tain  notes  ;  roses  and  milk  were  offered  under 
the  same  stall  by  girls  whose  creamy  complex- 
ions seemed  served  up  as  a  natural  advertise- 
ment ;  and  as  for  the  mountains  of  eggs 
offered  and  die  rashers  of  bacon,  in  this  one 
Fair  alone,  there  must  have  been  enough  of 
such  to  have  fed  all   Normandy. 

How  can  one  hope  to  give  the  best  part  of 
the  Fair?  —  the  strong  dominant  human  note 
—  the  groups  of  peasants  that  gathered  and 
broke,  only  to  re-form  elsewhere  ?  the  laughter, 
the  greetings,  —  the  exchange  between  two 
sun-dyed  faces  of  the  thrice-given  Norman 
kiss  ?  the  strange  oddities  of  sound  in  the 
crossing  of  the  various  patois  jargon,  that 
kept  its  bass  and  treble  high  above  the  groan 
of  tied  calves,  and  the  protesting  cackle  of 
hens  in  bondage  ? 

One  huge  peasant,  whose  width  of  girth 
made  his  crisp  purple  blouse  take  about  a 
certain  region  of  his  body,  the  shape  of  a 
bandao-e,  was  tenderino-  for  sale  some  tame 
bullfinches  in  a  cage  the  size  of  a  mouse-trap. 
Close  to  him,  a  widow,  in  a  long  crepe  veil, 
and   a  bonnet  modelled  on  approved   Parisian 


THE   FAIR   OF  BOOTHS  95 

Boil  Marche  styles,  felt  no  sense  of  incongruity 
in  the  holding  of  a  pendent  rabbit  in  one 
hand,  and  two  captive  hens  in  the  other.  Be- 
sides her  merchandise,  she  had  brought  her 
family  cares  to  market. 

"What  —  ait  uoni  du  bon  Dieu — am  I  to 
do  with  a  tiresome  little  ragamuffin,  who,  at 
daylight,  is  off  with  all  the  gars  of  the  town, 
smoking  cigarettes,   if  you   please  !  " 

She  asked  the  question  of  a  neighbor  in 
short  homespun  skirts  and  a  white  cotton  cap. 
Her  answer  came  from  a  handsome,  flirtatious- 
eyed  peasant,  whose  blue  scarf  was  tied  with  a 
courting  jauntiness  above  his  neat  blouse.  In 
her  case,  the  days  of  distressed  widowhood 
seemed  numbered. 

The  August  sun,  meanwhile,  was  as  ardent 
as  ever.  He  poured  the  strength  of  his  glance, 
unhindered,  on  maiden  lip  and  velvet  throat. 
The  warmth  of  his  midsummer  caress  was  un- 
wittingly confessed  in  the  more  provocative 
swing  of  full  hips,  and  in  laughter  that  sung 
itself  into  raptures  of  content.  In  this  Fair 
of  booths,  Cupid  was  making  the  most  of 
what    was  left   of   the   summer  —  as  he  was  at 


96 


FA  LA  IS E 


other  fairs  held  weekly  at  Caen,  Dives,  Dozule, 

and  a  hundred  other  Norman  towns  and  villages. 

This    Fair   of   booths   and   awnings    has    its 


A  Scene  at  ihe  Fair  of  Booths. 

counterparts  in  France  from  the  boulevards 
bleached  by  the  suns  of  Provence  to  the  sea- 
washed  hamlets  and  towns  of  Upper  Normandy. 
One  may  see  everywhere  the  same  cheap  assort- 


THE  FAIR   OF  BOOTHS  97 

ment  of  wearing  apparel  and  earthenware ;  the 
same  admixture  of  farm  products  and  German 
absurdities;  hear  the  same  braying  of  the 
hurdv-eurdies  attached  to  the  same  revolvine 
wooden  horses,  and  watch  the  same  gypsy  carts 
outside  the  Fair  grounds  sending  forth  their 
"strong  men  "  and  their  "  queens  of  the  rope  " 
in  tights  and  gold-fringed  velvets,  which  the 
sun  cruelly  strips  of  their  last  vestige  of  illu- 
sion. But  that  for  which  the  Fair  of  Guibray 
is  chiefly  remarkable  —  apart  from  its  horse 
show  —  is  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

Nowhere  else,  in  all  France,  have  I  seen 
such  nobly  built  men — men  of  such  stature, 
such  strength  and  length  of  limb,  and  such 
breadth  of  girth  ;  nor  faces  at  once  so  healthful 
and  so  full  of  those  forces  which  make  for 
character  building.  Turn  where  one  would  — 
to  the  groups  circulating  in  and  about  the 
horses:  or  to  the  long  inn  tables  set  upon  the 
narrow  sidewalks  —  and  filled  asfain  and  ao-ain 
with  hungry  peasants  eager  for  the  noon  meal ; 
whether  one  looked  upon  the  lusty  lads  ripen- 
ing to  early  manhood,  as  much  men  at  eigh- 
teen,  as   never  will   be   the   puny    Parisian   at 


98  FA  LA  IS  E 

thirty;  or  whether  one  lifted  the  e3^es  to  en- 
counter serious-eyed,  massively  built  farmers, 
in  the  full  flush  of  life's  tide  —  wherever  one 
looked  or  turned,  it  was  to  see  the  strength  of 
France  before  one.  Here  are  the  men  who, 
again  and  again,  have  given  Europe  its  sur- 
prises ;  who,  centuries  ago,  went  forth  —  they 
and  their  horses  —  to  start  a  new  race  across 
the  seas  and,  so  persistent  was  and  is  their 
type,  that  here  one  still  may  see  the  parent 
stock  from  which  was  struck  the  image  of 
England's  Englishmen. 

Along  the  coast  the  Norman  peasant  has 
largely  lost  his  individuality  of  aspect.  The 
obliterating  finger  of  contact  with  many  men 
of  many  worlds  has  snioothed  away  his  more 
distinguishing  characteristics.  In  these  re- 
moter districts,  where  Norman  habits,  customs, 
and  traditions,  are  as  inrooted  as  are  its  giant 
oaks  and  beeches,  the  peasant  is  still  the 
brother  of  those  hardy  sires  of  the  stalwart  race 
of  farmers  and  yeomen  that  have  given  to  Eng- 
land its  mighty  arm  of  power. 


A    Typical  Noniiaii 


CHAPTER   XI 


SOME    NIGHT    SCENES 


IN  among  these  groups  of  peasants  there 
were  certain  faces  and  figures  one  seemed 
to  have  met  elsewhere.  These  famiHar  coun- 
tenances were  at  times  to  be  seen  bending  over 
a  horse's  hoof,  peering,  with  an  absent  air,  into 
a  veteran  Percheron's  mouth,  or  one  met  them 
at  nearer  quarters,  toasting  half  booz)-  peasants 
at  the  cafe  tables. 

Rakishly  dressed,  masquerading  as  English- 
men on  their  travels;  or  less  conspicuous  in 
the  blouse  of  a  horse-breeder  or  in  the  gayly 
striped  vest  of  the  jockey,  whatever  the  assumed 
garb  or  costume,  —  here  was  the  world  of 
swindlers  come  down  to  Falaise. 

Since  time  immemorial  they  have  gathered 
here,  we  learned.  The  Fair,  in  its  great  his- 
toric days,  was  full  of  gypsies  and  acrobats, 
who,    when    not    professionally    engaged,    em- 


ployed  their  leisure  in  counterfeiting  gentle- 
men riders  in  search  of  a  good  mount  or  naive 
peasants  on  the  look-out  for  a  gay  half-hour. 

After  three  days  of  horse  trading,  the  most 
ascetic  of  farmers  relaxes  the  austerity  of  his 
habits.  After  the  hard  bargains  comes  the 
hard  drinking.  This  is  the  moment  patiently 
awaited  by  the  black  band  —  ''la  bande  noirer 

To  lure  a  peasant  to  one  of  the  darker, 
dimmer  cafes,  on  the  pretence  of  closing  the 
sale  talked  over  in  bright  light  of  day;  to 
tempt  him,  after  the  stii^  brandy  has  begun  its 
devil's  work,  to  show  the  wily  customer  the 
horse  or  mare  in  question  for  a  final  convinc- 
ing proof  of  his  merits  and  powers ;  for  other 
mysterious  members  of  the  dark  brotherhood  to 
close  in,  and  to  walk  off  with  the  animal,  while 
the  half-drunken  owner  is  still  in  the  happy 
throes  of  arq;umentation  —  this  is  a  trick  so  old 
one  wonders  there  are  men  still  born  to  whom 
its  practice  is  a  novelty. 

"  Ah-h  !  —  \re-nom-dc-D —  !  Hi  —  there  ! 
Thieves  !  Murder !  Help  !  Catch  him  —  I  say  ! 
a  gold  piece  to  any  one  who  '11  catch  him,  I 
say.    Touncrre-r-r-e  de  Dicti  —  if  I  catch  him  ! !  " 


SOME  NIGHT  SCENES  lO 


v3 


Such  was  the  hoarse  cry  that  startled  the 
sippers  of  coffee  and  brandy  about  the  little 
tables  the  last  night  of  our  stay.  The  night 
had  fallen.  Only  the  stars  and  a  few  trembling 
gas  jets  below  them  were  lighting  the  town. 

"Ah  —  that's  old  Duchesne!  I  wonder 
what  s  up  now !  "  cried  a  stout  peasant  above 
his  tall  glass. 

Through  the  dusk  of  the  night  a  certain 
horse  had  been  led,  at  a  brisk  trot,  through  the 
crowded  street,  by  a  small  quick-footed,  well- 
dressed  man,  to  whom  other  people's  toes  and 
legs  were  only  as  so  many  objects  to  be  hit  or 
hurt — when  in  his  or  his  horse's  way. 

The  yelling  peasant,  with  scant  locks  stream- 
ing in  the  light  night  wind,  and  the  red  gone 
to  purple  in  his  terror-stricken  face,  dancing 
through  the  crowd  in  his  frenzied  flight,  was 
scattering  gossips  and  groups  right  and  left. 

Some  of  the  younger  men  and  lads  were 
soon  after  the  stolen  horse  and  the  gentlemanly 
thief  with  a  rush.  But  fainter  and  fainter  grew 
the  clickety  clack  that  came  as  the  ringing 
answer  down  the  long  street,  that  one  who 
knew  how  to  put   a   good   horse   to  his   paces 


I04  FALAISE 

had  vanished  into  the  night  along  with  his 
spoils. 

The  groups  of  peasants  that  had  streamed 
out  of  cafes  and  house  doors  now  returned  to 
their  cups  and  their  gossip.  The  disconsolate 
loser  was  considerately  advised  to  drown  his 
sorrows,  at  least  for  the  night,  in  the  bowl,  that, 
like  remorse,  reserves  its  worst  dregs  for  an 
uncertain  to-morrow. 

After  the  din  and  shrill  of  the  talk  had  sub- 
sided, the  high  street  settled  down  to  an  un- 
wonted calm. 

In  the  open,  brightly  lit  shops,  groups  of 
rosy-hued  farmers  were  still  holding  their 
smoking  bees;  still  sitting  in  state,  wearing 
their  high  silk  caps ;  yet  was  the  traffic  of  talk 
among  them  as  sensibly  diminishing  as  were 
the  numbers  of  drinkers  and  smokers. 

It  was  only  the  fourth  night  of  the  Fair. 
Already  the  town  seemed  empty.  The  crov/d 
of  peasants,  that,  only  the  night  before  had 
packed  streets  and  shops,  filling  the  dark  with 
their  deep  Norman  voices,  was  gone.  All  the 
long  day  the  Rue  Argentan  had  seen  the  old 
familiar  sight  —  the  long  procession  of  farmers, 


SO^fE  XIGHT  SCENES  105 

of  grooms,  of  jockeys  and  stud-raisers  leading 
or  riding  homewards  their  bought  or  unsold 
bargains. 

The  packing  of  horses  into  the  freight  cars 
had  been  one  of  the  shows  of  this,  our  last  day 
at  Falaise,  and  now,  once  more,  in  the  warmth 
of  the  soft  August  night,  we  were  to  make  the 
tour  of  the  town. 

The  sidewalks  were  almost  emptied  of  chairs 
and  tables.  The  cobble-stones  echoed  once 
more  to  the  rustic  music  of  clinking  sabots. 
Through  half  open  shutters  one  could  watch 
the  tired  town  folks,  candle  in  hand,  mounting 
upwards  to  their  chambers.  Lights  were  out 
early.  The  long  provincial  calm  was  settling 
down  upon  the  old  town,  cradling  it  into  its 
wonted  quiet. 

Some  late  revellers,  who  had  gathered  to 
form  a  rustic  Bacchanalia  wound  and  re- 
wound, with  growing  uncertainty  of  tread,  up 
and  down  the  hilly  streets.  Their  songs,  be- 
o-un  lustilv,  were  endintj  in  the  disorderliness 
of  feeble  discord. 

Better  than  click  of  sabots  or  Norman  song 
were  the    scents,    that,    from   unseen    gardens, 


I06  FALAISE 

cooled  and  enriched  the  night  winds.  Better 
than  tottering  shapes  of  boozy  peasants  were 
the  dim  forms  of  trees,  that  towered  up  from 
the  valley.  Better  than  all  was  the  solemn 
state  of  the  silent  churches  guarding  the  city 
squares,  rising  into  the  night  in  the  glory  of 
their  sculptured  grace. 

Out  of  the  dark  a  shadow  was  born.  Small 
at  first,  scarcely  discernible,  little  by  little  it 
grew  to  fair  and  wondrous  shape.  Dwarfing 
the  town,  the  dim  outlines  of  the  distant  forest 
and  the  noble  St.  Gervais  tower  alone  seemed 
to  match  it  for  grandeur.  For  the  shadow 
was  that  of  the  Past —  of  tliat  orreat  Past  when 
Falaise  sat  on  its  cliffs  like  a  queen  on  her 
throne  and  men  paid  homage  to  her.  This 
phantom  —  a  luminous  shape — followed  us, 
beckoning,  advancing,  retreating  —  as  illusive 
as  a  dream  —  yet  entering  with  us  into  the 
midnight  stillness  of  our  inn. 


PART    II 
THE    TALE    OF    A    TOWN 


'vv5X'^2E5ffTf!t!Tr 


William  the  Conqueror. 


CHAPTER    I 

THE    STORY    OF    ARLETTE 

"  A  Faleize  out  li  Dus  hant^, 
Une  meschine  i  out  amee 
Arlot  out  noni,  de  burgeis  nee." 

DOWN  the  narrow  twisting  streets  that 
cHmbed  the  Valdante  hillside,  there 
passed  daily,  and  twice  and  thrice  daily,  hun- 
dreds of  years  as^o,  a  maiden  with  a  water 
bucket.  When  the  bucket  was  empty  and 
light  in  the  hand,  the  girl  swung  her  grace 
down  the  cliff  with  quick  free  step.  As  like  as 
not  she  would  mark  the  rhythm  of  her  swing 
with  the  snatch  of  a  song. 

As  she  went,  swinging  her  way  downwards, 
heads  would  pop  out  of  low  doors  and  narrow 
window  slits. 

"  To  the  fountain  —  Arlette  }  " 
"  Si,  —  to  the  fountain  — ar  't  coming  ?  " 
The  song  that  had  died  in   Arlette's  throat 
was  then   born    anew,  swollen  to  a  chorus  of 


I  I  2  FALAISE 

girlish  chatter  and  laughter.  Belted  by  the 
living  clasp  of  her  maiden  following,  Arlette 
sped  onward,  all  the  hamlefs  gossip  as  fresh 
on  her  lip  as  the  bright  noon. 

For  all  it  was  late  autumn  —  what  a  noon  it 
was  !  If  the  air  was  a  trifle  quick,  it  but  made 
one's  breath  come  the  swifter.  Just  as  in  mid- 
summer, there  was  a  touch  of  gold  everywhere. 
As  one  came  closer  to  the  river,  the  air  was 
softer,  warmer  —  how  the  breeze  wound  itself 
about  one's  throat  and  neck,  twisting  around 
one's  naked  ankles  like  a  thin  wet  scarf ! 

Ah  —  how  good  it  was  to  be  young,  to  be 
alive,  and  to  be  going  to  the  fountain ! 

In  all  the  Valdante  there  was  no  place  like 
the  fountain  for  the  making  of  a  girl's  happi- 
ness. This  was  the  excuse  of  all  others  for 
takino:  a  turn  in  the  streets.  One  could  be 
sure  of  a  chat  with  Marthe  and  Lisette.  There 
might  come,  also,  the  chance  of  a  "bonjour"  to 
a  soldier  or  farmer,  as  they  passed  by  the  river; 
and  of  all  maidens  Arlette  could  be  counted 
upon  to  buy,  with  that  wondrous  smile  of  hers, 
the  latest  news  of  Guibray  or  Falaise. 

In  Arlette's  own  hamlet  of  La  Roche,  whose 


THE  STORY  OF  ARLETTE  II3 

tightly  built  streets  climbed  the  hillside,  there 
was  no  lack  of  life.  Its  very  soil  wore  its  tan- 
ner's colors.  Half  the  village  was  dyed  purple 
or  red  —  earth,  house-fronts,  and  men's  hands 
and  arms  whose  leathern  aprons  were  the  colors 
of  the  hides  spread  out  a-drying.  Water  mills 
crunched  and  groaned.  Wind  mills  pawed  an 
air  that  echoed  to  a  thousand  sounds —  to  the 
bleating  sheep;  to  the  rhythmic  clang  of  the 
metal  workers  in  the  numerous  cutlery  shops ; 
to  the  sound  of  soused  linens  and  cottons  as 
the  dyers  plunged  the  stuffs  into  their  deep 
vats  —  and  to  the  squeal  of  pigs  and  the  moans 
of  the  steers  being  led  to  their  slaughter. 

Ah,  no!  there  was  no  lack  of  stir  or  life  at 
La  Roche — this  busiest  of  all  the  quarters  in 
the  Valdante. 

As  busy  as  any  was  Verpray  —  Arlette's 
father,  —  the  tanner  of  hides.  Verpray,  just 
then,  was  under  a  cloud.  He  had  been  found 
guilty  of  a  fearful  offence.  He  had  been  caught 
poaching.  In  the  great  forests  yonder  where 
the  Count,  their  Lord,  kept  his  wild  beasts,  and 
took  his  chief  pleasure  in  their  killing,  Verpray 
in  common  with  a  goodly  number  of  his  fellow 


1 1  4  FALAISE 

tradesmen,  had  gone  hunting.  Now  the  great 
Count  of  Falaise  in  his  own  forests  was  one 
thing;  and  a  miserable  lot  of  tanners,  daring 
to  risk  their  lives  in  the  desire  to  increase  their 
stock-in-trade  —  at  the  Count's  expense  —  was 
quite  another.  Ducal  forests  were  not  for  such 
as  they.  These  Valdanteans  must  be  taught 
their  lesson.  The  gallows  yonder  on  the  hill 
were  waitinsf  to  teach  it  them. 

By  the  luckiest  of  chances  the  most  guilty 
of  all  the  rascals,  one  Verpray,  had  been 
caught  red-handed.  The  Count  had  gleefully 
sworn  this  one,  at  least,  should  hang  for  his 
crime. 

Other  Gods,  however,  were  at  work  in  the 
breezy  Valdante  than  those  of  pure  vengeance. 

For  Arlette  was  going  to  the  fountain  ! 

Going  also,  to  so  many  and  such  wonderful 
things  besides,  that  had  the  vision  of  her  future 
lain  there  —  for  her  to  read  in  the  clear  mirror 
of  her  water-pail  —  a  stronger  head  than  that  of 
Arlette's  might  have  been  turned  at  the  sight. 

What  her  young  eyes  did  count  on  seeing, 
there  at  the  fountain,  was  already  before  her. 
The  familiar  figures  of  the  tanners,  the  soldiers 


THE   STORY  OF  ARLETTE  115 

—  with  an  eye  across  their  shoulders  for  the 
girl  —  troop,  the  farmers'  carts  rattling  by,  and 
yes,  surely  to-day,  at  least,  were  they  all  in  luck, 
for  up  yonder  in  the  woods  the  horns  were 
blowing.  The  hunt  was  to  pass  —  this  the 
Valdantean  way  —  up  to  the  chateau  aloft. 

That  Arlette's  heart  should  leap  to  her  throat 
as  the  Count  and  his  huntino:  escort  came 
sweeping  down  the  steep  incline,  was  little 
wonder.  She  should  see  close  —  almost  face 
to  face  —  their  dreaded  yet  half-loved  Lord,  who 
was  to  do  such  fearful  things  to  her  father. 
Was  he  come  even  now  to  take  his  venQ-eance  .-* 
Would  he  stop  —  and  bid  her  bring  her  father.? 
Should  she  see  hini  —  Verpray  —  bound  and 
torn — perhaps  in  rude  soldier's  grasp  going 
up  to  the  dungeons  of  the  fortress } 

All  the  gold  in  the  day  was  suddenly  turned 
to  darkness.  Then  out  of  the  mist  before  her 
eyes  there  rode  the  Lord  Robert,  sitting  his 
horse  like  a  king,  with  his  bird  on  his  wrist. 

It  was  then  Arlette  looked  at  the  Count. 
At  sight  of  him  a  quick  sudden  strength  was 
u]3()n  her.  He  should  see  none  of  the  fear  that 
was  gnawing  her  heart.     Perhaps,  (who  knows  ?) 


Il6  FALAISE 

if  the  great  Count  cast  his  glance  upon  her,  he 
might  read  the  prayer  in  her  look  for  her 
father. 

What  he  read  there  —  what  his  man's  eyes 
saw,  kindled  a  flame  so  swift,  so  sharp,  that 
Robert,  Count  d'Hiemes,  prospective  Duke  of 
Normandy,  knew  his  hour  had  come. 

A  girlish,  graceful  shape  tapering  to  slim 
firm  ankles,  whose  only  covering  was  the  snow 
of  a  skin  that  turned  to  peach  bloom  on  the 
rounded  cheek;  an  open  throat,  white  and  full; 
eyes  lucent  with  goodness  that  met  his  own 
bravely,  valiantly.  For  a  garment  one  that 
clothed  the  maiden  better  than  any  court 
mantle,  for  she  wore  a  dignity  that  matched  his 
own. 

Nom  di  Dieu  !  here  was  a  girl  in  a  thousand. 
Here  also  was  a  quick  sweet  pain,  something 
new,  strange,  imperious.  It  was  a  delirium 
worker.  The  Count  d'Hiemes  found  himself 
riding  his  horse  as  lim.p  as  any  love-sick  maiden. 

This  stage  lasted  long  enough  to  teach  the 
Lord  of  Falaise  and  of  the  Valdante  what  he 
wanted  —  what  he  must  have!  The  girl  was 
there !     God  be  thanked  she  was  there  in  his 


THE   STORY  OF  ARLETTE  117 

own  hamlet !  Easy  enough  to  pluck  that 
peach,  since  it  grew  within  his  own  walls.  She 
was  Verpray's  —  the  poacher's  daughter?  He 
had  heard  aright  ?  Ah  !  well.  Verpray's  sin, 
after  all,  was  not  so  black  ;  there  were  others 
who  had  sinned  too,  and  worse.  Verpray's 
crime  must  be  looked  into,  —  could  be  con- 
doned, doubtless,  must  be  forgotten.  A  man 
with  such  a  daughter  was  never  born  to  hang 
from  timber. 

"  II  la  requist  affectueusement  a  son  pere." 
Thus  does  the  chronicle  phrase  the  Count's 
first  overture.  It  rings  with  an  accent  of  truth. 
There  is  in  it  the  spirit  of  that  fine  nature 
of  the  man  whose  eye-born  passion  was,  even 
at  birth,  softened  to  a  certain  delicacy  by 
sentiment. 

Now  Verpray,  a  tanner  in  his  honest  hours, 
and  Doda  his  wife,  they  also  had  their  senti- 
ments to  make  known.  Their  Count  —  a 
coming  Duke  perchance,  love-smitten  with 
their  daughter?  Ah  well,  they  were  scarce 
surprised.  Others  besides  the  Count  had 
marked  her  fairness ;  even  the  Valdante  — 
aye  —  Falaise  too,  had  eyes.     Beauty  such  as 


I  1 8  FALAISE 

hers  went  not  abroad  unnoticed,  and  returned 
not  unasked.  They  —  her  parents  —  knew 
their  daughter's  worth.  Knowing  it,  they  dared 
tell  even  their  Lord  they  had  other  views  than 
that  this,  their  pearl,  the  treasure  of  the  house, 
should  be  worn  as  a  nobleman's  bauble  one 
day  and  trampled  in  the  dust  the  next.  No ! 
no!  Arlette  was  meant  for  more  honorable 
uses  than  even  a  future  Duke's  "  amoureuse." 
If  however,  the  Count  would  but  propose 
marriage  —  even  one  clandestine  —  ah  well ! 
that  was  an  altogether  different  matter. 

Now  of  all  ways  for  fanning  love's  flame  into 
the  fury  of  a  conflagration,  none  has  yet  been 
found  surer  than  a  masterly  wielding  of  the 
provocative  called  opposition.  Marry  Arlette, 
even  love-sick,  heart-and-lip-desiring  Robert 
felt  he  could  not.  The  prospective  heir  to  the 
great  Duchy  of  Normandy  must  not  wed  a 
tanner's  daughter.  Certain  other  well  worn 
promises,  however,  might  serve.  He  would 
only  too  willingly  proffer  the  common  stock-in- 
trade  of  wealthy,  high-born  wooers.  The  only 
she-and-never-another-vow  miofht  take  a  certain 

O 

accent  of  novelty  on  noble  lips. 


THE   STORY  OF  ARLETTE  119 

Meanwhile,  as  prayers  and  protestations 
worked  their  way,  the  Count  fed  his  flame  by 
ways  none  could  stop.  If  the  bitter-sweet  ache 
for  the  girl  must  wait  on  consentment  for  its 
soothing,  eye  and  sense  could  revel  in  loving 
contemplation  of  what  was  surely  soon  to  be 
his. 

Often  as  he  had  looked  forth  from  the  hiorh 
built  window  of  his  great  fortress,  and  found 
the  earth  fair  that  lay  beneath  it,  never  had  he 
seen  lovelier  prospect  than  that  of  Arlette  at  the 
well.  Far  below  him  as  was  that  deep  pocket 
in  the  walls,  and  small  as  the  girl  shape  looked 
—  a  child  she  seemed  from  that  height- — yet  did 
her  shape  and  the  white  and  pink  and  gold  of 
her  make  the  blood  flood  her  lover's  pulses 
with  quick  fresh  warmth.  Ay  di  Dieu  !  What 
a  waist  for  an  arm's  clasping!  What  ankles 
to  be  covered  with  kisses  first  and  then  later 
with  courtly  tunics,  —  the  cyclades  of  great 
ladies  —  that  none  thereafter  might  see  their 
whiteness. 

And  Arlette  }  Surely  there  could  be  no  harm 
in  looking  up  at  the  Castle.  It  had  ever  been 
lier  halDit  to  scan  the  great  w\ills.      In  days  not 


1 20  FALAISE 

yet  old,  other  eyes  than  those  of  the  Master 
had  looked  through  arched  windows  and 
from  turreted  walls  to  throw  their  fiery  glances 
downwards.  And  now?  Ah  well  —  the  lordly 
shape  that  leant  its  strength  across  the  window 
ledge,  to  watch  her  coming,  how  could  she  — 
a  girl,  Arlette,  the  tanner's  daughter  —  how 
could  she  help  the  lifting  of  her  eyes  to  answer 
back  the  bolt  of  love  shot  down  to  her? 

In  these  days  Arlette  went  oftener  than 
common  to  the  fountain. 

Meanwhile  Verpray  "  toutefois  fut  du  due 
tant  prie  et  requis  par  la  grande  affecion  qu'il 
vit  que  le  due  avoit  a  la  pucelle  sa  fille  "  so 
greatly  did  the  Duke  (not  yet  Duke,  but  Count 
d'Hiemes)  importune  Verpray,  and  so  im- 
pressed was  the  latter  by  the  great  love  and 
affection  of  the  "Duke"  for  the  maiden  his 
daughter,  that  Verpray  was  brought  to  the 
point  of  consenting  —  provided  always  "Arlette 
y  mit  son  consentiment." 

When  Arlette  herself  was  put  to  the  torture 
question,  what  answer  did  she  give?  For 
torture  question  it  was.  There  was  all  the 
dowry  of  her  virtue,  hope  of  honest  marriage, 


THE   STORY  OF  ARLETTE  I2I 

children  who  might  not  blush  to  call  her 
mother  —  here  was  the  price  to  be  paid  for  — 
for  what  ?  Could  she  be  sure,  really  sure  of 
the  great  Lord  meaning  her  well?  Ah  mi! 
What  a  dazzling,  soul-disturbing  lover  he 
made  — that  shape  against  the  window  !  Had 
he  not  come  down  from  his  splendid  castle, 
again  and  again,  as  humble  as  any  poor  tanner 
of  the  hamlet,  to  sue  and  plead  and  beg?  His 
lips  breathed  promises  as  rich  as  his  love 
seemed  hot  and  urgent. 

Beyond  even  the  love  and  the  lover  swam, 
golden-misted,  the  vision  of  a  orrandeur  daz- 
zling  indeed  to  a  bare-foot  girl.  How  indeed 
was  she  to  answer  ? 

Listen  to  the  answer,  and  read  in  it  the 
nature  of  that  soul  that  was  to  mother  one 
of  the  world's  conquerors. 

"  Mon  pere,  je  suis  votre  fille  et  geniture, 
ordonnez  de  moi  ce  ku'il  vous  plaist.  Je  suis 
prete  a  vous  obeir." 

''De  cette  response  fut  le  due  moult  joyeux." 

How  you  read  it,  I  know^  not.  To  me  it 
seems  the  very  pearl  of  an  answer.  Her  heart 
was  the  Count's  —  her  true  lover's  —  already. 


122  FALAISE 

Consentment  breathes  through  every  line. 
But,  even  to  and  before  one's  parents,  to  one's 
own  self  as  well,  above  all,  to  fierce-tongued, 
gossip-gifted  Valdante,  one's  willingness  to  the 
making  of  such  a  bargain  must  wear  the  out- 
ward semblance  of  decency.  She  yielded  read- 
ily, but  at  the  parental  command. 

The  Count  understood ;  he  was  "  moult 
joyeux." 

All  had  not  yet  been  said,  however,  by  the 
obedient  tanner's  daughter.  She  had  come 
to  firmer  ground  in  these  weeks  of  parley- 
ing. She  had  found  a  prop,  one  sure,  strong, 
more  potent  than  all  others,  to  stay  her  girl- 
strength  ;  she  knew  now  all  she  might  dare. 

In  those  dim  days,  as  in  our  brighter  so- 
called  wise  ones,  women  took  their  troubles  to  a 
priest.  Arlette's  family  boasted  something  wiser 
even  than  the  parish  priest.  A  hermit-uncle 
nursed  his  soul  and  starved  his  mortal  parts  in 
the  neighboring  Falaisian  woods.  To  him 
Arlette  took  her  torn  mind  that  he  might 
mend  it.  The  hermit  —  did  he  have  his  help 
from  heaven,  or,  did  he,  forgetting  his  vows, 
remember    he    too    had    once    been    a    man  ? 


THE  STORY  OF  ARLETTE  123 

From  whatever  the  source,  his  spiritual  Hps 
breathed  a  strange  earthly  wisdom.  "Let  the 
girl  go  up  to  her  noble  lover."  Whether  what 
happened  next  was  of  his  ordering,  no  chroni- 
cler will  say.  But  once  the  hermit-uncle  had 
been  seen  a  new  and  quite  womanly  power 
grows  upon  Arlette. 

Yes,  she  would  be  the  Count's  "  Amie;"  she 
would  go  up  to  him,  even  as  he  wished,  though 
she  went  with  all  her  heart  in  her  mouth.  She 
would  stay  with  him,  in  his  high-perched  castle, 
there  to  be  his  love.  But  for  this  her  undoing, 
she  must  go,  attended  by  the  state  that  should 
be  hers,  were  she  indeed  to  be  the  noble  Count's 
true  wife.     Otherwise  she  would  not  go. 

The  man  in  the  lover's  soul  consented.  But 
the  Lord  of  Falaise  w^as  a  Norman.  Yes ;  the  girl 
should  have  her  escort ;  on  the  night  following, 
he  would  send  a  guard  and  she  was  to  be  brought 
to  him  at  the  castle  secret  door — the  "poterne." 

"The  secret  door?"  cried  the  voice  from 
La  Roche  !  "  Never,  in  God's  world  !  "  She, 
Arlette,  had  named,  as  the  sole  price  of  her 
love  a  wife's  escort.  A  wife's  escort  she  would 
have,  or  none  at  all. 


124  FALAISE 

Here  indeed  was  a  new  and  strange  stop. 
But  Robert  was  a  man  of  wit ;  he  had  an  eye 
for  the  humor  of  a  situation.  Also,  presuma- 
bly, such  pride  and  firmness  of  mind  in  a 
tanner's  daughter,  must  have  plunged  Robert, 
the  lover,  twenty  fathoms  the  deeper  in  his  sea 
of  longing  for  her. 

She  should  have  her  courtly  escort.  He 
would  send  the  girl  his  own  guard ;  his 
"chevaliers"  should  bring  her  up  from  the 
low  cottage  door  at  La  Roche  to  the  cha- 
teau where  his  heart  was  preparing  a  wel- 
come more  splendid  than  the  state  she  would 
find  awaiting  her. 

His  heart's  beating,  however,  still  must  wait 
on  a  maiden's  obstinacy. 

For  Robert's  knights  had  been  sent  on  foot, 
dismounted.     The  guard  was  no  guard  at  all. 

Back  to  the  giant  fortress  marched  the 
troop  of  noblemen.  Warriors  ripe  in  years, 
youthful  knights,  heroes  of  the  tournament, 
and  mighty  hunters  of  the  forest,  all  were  sent 
trapesing  back.  "  Bring  your  steeds  "  was  the 
tanner's  daughter's  word  of  command. 

Can  you  fancy  the  laughter,  deep-chested  or 


THE  STORY  OF  ARLETTE  125 

treble-pitched?  The  oaths  that  must  perforce 
have  ended  in  gay  jesting  ?  What  jokes  must 
have  leapt  to  lip,  what  wit  have  flashed,  as 
knights  and  warriors  re-wound  their  w^ay 
across  the  steeps,  meekly  to  seek  their  chargers 
for  the  getting  of  Verpray's  daughter. 

And  the  Valdante !  And  Falaise !  And 
Guibray !  What  of  the  neighbors,  the  tanners, 
the  cutlers,  the  dyers?  What  of  the  women's 
heads  thick  as  strung  berries,  hanging  from  all 
the  windows,  and  every  gossip  at  her  post  on 
the  door-step  ?  Was  ever  such  a  sight  seen  as 
this,  the  great  knights  running  to  and  fro  at 
Arlette's — Arlette's  of  all  maidens  —  bidding? 
Such  goings  on  were  beyond  even  a  witch's 
prophecy ! 

Now  let  the  tanner's  yards  and  cutler's  doors 
and  all  the  windows  thicken  with  faces,  for  'tis 
the  last  these  neighbors  of  hers  will  ever  see 
of  Arlette  —  as  Arlette  ! 

There  she  w^as,  at  last !  No7n  di  Dieu,  — 
but  how  grand  she  was  grown,  already !  She 
rode  her  horse  like  a  queen.  As  a  queen's 
was  her  pomp  and  state.  Her  troop  was  about 
her  now,   brave   in  color,   their  short   mantles 


1 26  FALAISE 

showing  their  crimson  and  blues.  Nobly 
mounted,  the  Count's  chevaliers  were  in- 
deed guarding  Arlette — Arlette,  the  tanner's 
daughter. 

At  high  noon,  in  the  pale  harmonizing 
autumnal  sun,  she  and  her  soldiers  made  the 
full  circuit  of  Falaise.  Through  its  streets 
packed  close  with  low  houses;  through  the 
mud,  the  mire,  and  rain-soaked  straw,  and 
throuQ^h  the  aisles  of  the  mutterino;.  murmur- 
ing  crowds  of  her  fellow  townspeople,  Arlette 
rode  grandly  to   her  undoing. 

At  the  chateau,  "the  great  doors  of  the 
town's  gatew^ay  must  be  opened  for  her,  and 
the  draw-bridge  lowered." 

Thus  it  was  that  Arlette  gave  herself  to  her 
lover. 


CHAPTER    II 

ROBERT    THE    MAGNIFICENT 

"  Tot  fut  la  porte  defermee 
Et  tot  eissi  rent  ens  menee 
Deciqu'en  la  chambre  (voutice) 
Ou  out  maiiit  ymaige  peintice 
A  or,  vermeil  et  a  colors." 

THE  narrow  room,  built  into  the  fortress 
walls,  where  Robert's  chevaliers  led 
Arlette,  no  longer  glows  with  the  "  many 
painted  images  in  gold  and  enamel,"  that  must 
have  dazzled  the  girl's  eyes  as  greatly  as  did 
the  face  of  her  lover. 

The  walls  of  the  famous  little  chamber  are 
nov/  of  rough  plaster.  Beneath  the  low  vaulted 
ceiling  there  are  still  left  the  narrow  alcove, 
large  enough  for  the  primitive  eleventh-century 
bed,  and  the  wide  chimney  mouth  where  a 
whole  forest,  doubtless,  of  noble  timber  has 
furnished  light  and  warmth  for  generations  of 
men. 


1 28  FALAISE 

The  splendor  of  appointments  in  that  small 
closet  in  a  fortress  wall  was  of  the  semi-bar- 
baric order  of  luxury  of  a  rude  age.  Already, 
before  he  was  come  to  his  ducal  seat,  both  his 
soldiers  and  his  subject  people  had  named 
Robert.  His  liberality  and  his  love  of  lavish 
expenditure  had  won  for  him  the  title  of 
"  Magnificent."  To  his  Northman's  spirit  of 
adventure  and  his  impetuous  ardor  he  united 
the  Roman's  delight  in  sumptuous  surround- 
ings. This  chamber  that  glowed  with  color; 
the  strange-faced  archaic  images  lit  into  splen- 
dor by  flaming  torches  ;  the  arras  hanging  at 
alcove  and  door,  thick  with  shadowy  figure 
shapes  ;  the  skins  that  lay  upon  the  couches 
and  the  gleams  of  the  pale  Merovingian  gold 
encircling  the  rough-cut  jewels  on  mantle 
clasp  and  necklace  —  thus,  both  in  his  person 
and  in  his  fortress  home,  Robert  presented  a 
semi-Oriental  love  of  the  splendid. 

Robert's  career,  as  lover,  warrior,  knight  and 
huntsman,  and  later  as  Duke  and  Pilgrim,  are 
the  more  easily  conceivable  to  the  nineteenth- 
century  mind,  when  viewed  from  this  gentle- 
man's bed-chamber. 


ROBERT   THE  MAGNIFICENT  129 

For  ofentleman,  Robert  Count  d'Hiemes  and 
later  sixth  Duke  of  Normandy,  unquestionably 
was.  His  life  proved  his  right  to  the  title. 
This  is  no  light  praise  for  a  Duke  and  a  Nor- 
man of  his  time.  The  trace  of  "  Pirate  "  in  his 
Northman's  blood  was  almost  lost.  There  was 
enough  left  of  the  old  Scandinavian  love  of 
adventure  to  make  Robert  as  picturesque  a 
figure  as  he  was  gallant  and  brave.  In  this 
Portrait  of  a  Gentleman  there  are  no  effete 
Chesterfieldian  traits  to  mar  the  noble  Rem- 
brandtish  breadth  and  glow.  One  feels  one's 
self  to  be  in  the  presence  of  a  man. 

He  strides  across  the  pages  of  history  with 
the  sure  live  tread  of  a  strong  personality.  At 
the  outset  Robert  presents  himself  with  the 
carriage  and  outlines  of  the  man  of  action, 
rather  than  of  one  who  drifts  to  his  place. 

As  the  non-reigning  member  of  his   House, 

an    obscure    Count     d'Hiemes,    Robert   found 

the  territory  assigned  to  him  too  small  for  the 

stasre  of  his  activities.      In  Falaise,  close  bv  his 

domain,   a    hill-town    with    a    cliff    fortress,  he 

saw  a  town   and   donjon  exactly  to  his  liking. 

Falaise  at  the  time  was  not  considered  as  rank- 

9 


1 30  FALAISE 

ing  especially  high  among  the  towns  in  Nor- 
man land.  CoLitances,  Avranches,  Bayeux, 
Lisieux,  and  of  course,  Rouen  the  capital, 
these  and  others  were  esteemed  as  far  more 
valuable  "  strong  places." 

Robert's  keen  eye  had  seen,  however,  one 
great  military  advantage  in  the  seizure  of 
Falaise.  That  fortress  on  its  cliffs  was  the 
key  to  the  open  plains  that  led  to  the  sea. 
Whoever  held  the  key  could  hold  fast  the  treas- 
ure-house of  lower  Normand}'.  As  huntsman, 
this  Nimrod  among  Normans,  also,  had  looked 
upon  the  vast  forests  engirdling  Falaise,  and 
found  them  to  be  the  very  forests  of  his  desires. 
For  beasts  and  birds,  for  every  creature  that 
was  wildest,  freest,  fleetest,  these  forests  were 
famed. 

Now  it  chanced  that  both  the  coveted  hill- 
sides and  the  populous  forests  belonged  to 
Robert's  brother  William,  who,  as  reiornins: 
Duke  of  Normandy,  was  also  Robert's  over 
Lord.  Robert,  however,  was  not  a  Norman 
for  nothing.  These  Northmen  had  kept  true 
to  the  adventurer's  disdainful  habit  of  lauQrhinof 
at  fetters. 


ROBERT   THE   MAGMFICEXT  I  31 

The  question  of  tlie  ownership  of  Falaise 
was  one  to  be  proved —  not  by  right  —  l^ut  b)- 
might.  This  latter  was  that  higher  law  of 
acquisition  which  was  as  potent  in  feudal 
Normandy  as  it  is  in  our  own   days. 

Robert  beinor  a  soldier,  and  no  subtle 
capitalist  or  financier,  having  decided  to 
own  Falaise,  proceeded  to  make  the  place 
exceedingly  tight. 

Vague  as  is  the  history  of  the  beginnings  of 
the  cliff  fortress,  its  earlier  historians  point  to 
Charlemagne  as  its  first  restorer.  Later  when 
the  "  Pirate  Dukes "  had  made  the  valuable 
discovery  that  the  land  that  owned  the  most 
fortresses  and  walled  towns  could  dictate  terms 
to  all  the  rest  of  France,  the  third  of  the  Nor- 
man Dukes,  Richard-the-Fearless,  greatly  im- 
proved and  enlarged  the  Donjon  of  Falaise,  its 
walls  and  enclosed  places. 

Sixty  years  later,  when  Robert's  clever  and 
covetous  gaze  fell  upon  Falaise,  the  place 
might  have  tempted  even  a  less  reckless  and 
audacious  spirit.  The  fortress  walls  stretched 
their  heights  above  the  moats  that  lay  l^elow  in 
the  deep  valleys  of  the  plain  on  one  side,  and 


12,2  FALAISE 

the  Valdante  cleft  on  the  other.  Watch-towers 
showed  their  square  teeth  above  the  clear 
cliff  heights.  There  were  stately  gateways, 
with  ponderous  drawbridge  and  portcullis. 
The  space  within  the  fortress  walls  was  large 
enough  for  military  manoeuvres,  for  the  chang- 
ing of  the  guard,  or  for  use  as  a  training  place 
for  the  Norman  youth  in  the  difficult  ait  of 
chivalry. 

Then  as  now,  town  and  fortress  sat  upon 
their  green  cliff  with  a  fairy  unlikeness  to 
their  life  and  purpose.  More  like  unto  the 
vision  of  walls  and  a  city  seen  in  a  dream, 
must  feudal  Falaise  have  shone  to  Robert's 
eyes  even  as  now  it  shines  in  its  glitter  of  high 
perched  roof  tiles  and  noble  wall  fronts  to  our 
sober  gaze.  That  ''Spirit  of  Places"  which 
the  poet-essayist  would  have  us  find  in  all  the 
lovelier,  nobler  sites  where  men  have  lived, 
toiled,  fought,  and  loved,  lives  on  here  at 
Falaise.  A  bright-winged  shape,  its  "  spirit  " 
of  romance,  of  adventure,  of  large  prosperity 
and  high  destiny  floats  upwards  from  the  green 
vales  to  the  glittering  cliff  summits.  The 
charm   of    Falaise   is  as   compelling  for   us  as 


ROBERT   THE    MAGNIEICEXT  I  33 

it  was  for  longing  Robert.  Its  charm  once 
seen  and  felt  was,  and  is,  irresistible.  It  had 
and  has  a  feminine  jK-rdurability  of  fascination, 
capturing  eye  and  sense  with  its  gracious  hill 
shapes,  its  tender  slopes,  its  verdant  valley 
breadth,  and  ceaseless  play  of  change  and 
contrast. 

Robert  proved  his  love  for  the  beautiful  cliff 
town  in  true  oallant  fashion.  He  was  willine 
to  fight  for  its  possession.  He  was  even  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  a  mere  brother.  The  brother, 
it  is  true,  was  at  a  pleasing  geographical  dis- 
tance when  Robert's  subjugation  by  Falaise 
was  first  strong  upon  him.  William,  the 
Duke,  was  most  conveniently  away  from  that 
part  of  lower  Normandy,  on  some  business  of 
governing.  The  first  investiture  of  Falaise 
was  therefore  made  the  easier  for  the  Count 
d'Hiemes. 

The  marching  of  an  army  a  few  hundred 
leagues  southward  was,  however,  as  easy  a 
feat  in  those  fio-htino-  davs  for  William,  as 
Robert  had  found  it  to  settle  himself  in  a 
castle  which  did  not  happen  to  belong  to  him. 

It  was  no  brother,  it  was   William,  reieninof 


134  FA  LA  IS  E 

Duke  of  Normandy  who  knocked  at  the  for- 
tress door  for  admission  into  his  own  castle. 
The  knock  was  no  gentle  one.  At  first  Robert 
was  disposed  to  keep  him  at  the  idle  business 
of  knocking.  The  masterful  way  in  which  the 
war  machinery  of  that  day  was  handled  by 
William  s  soldiers,  however,  soon  Qrave  Robert 
some  hours  of  uneasiness.  Strong  as  were  his 
walls,  Robert  already  saw  them  all  but  entered, 
—  before  a  sudden  thought  struck  him. 

After  all,  why  fight  one's  own  brother,  when 
the  brother  happens  to  have  so  peculiarly  skil- 
ful an  army  .-'  How^  much  better  to  be  mag- 
nanimous—  and  hold  out  the  hand  of  forgive- 
ness.'' One  is  not  surnamed  the  "  Magnificent  " 
for  nothing. 

William,  on  his  part,  showed  as  noble  a 
spirit.  A  reconciliation  took  place.  The 
brothers  separated  all  the  closer  friends  be- 
cause of  the  recent  unpleasantness.  The 
blood  that  is  thicker  than  water  went  to 
the  signing  of  the  pact. 

For  the  short  month  after,  Robert's  and  the 
town's  history  was  that  of  happy  lovers  and 
nations.      In  the  neio-hborino;  forests  of  Gouf- 


ROBERT   THE   MACXnTCE.\T  I  35 

fern  and  of  Eraines,  Robert  was  content  to 
spend  his  da\s.  Fatherhood  followed  swift  on 
the  joys  of  his  happy  love-life  with  Arlette. 
But  before  he  was  father,  William,  his  brother, 
the  Duke  died,  to  the  usual  accompanying 
suspicion  of  poison,  this  latter  being  the  medi- 
aeval explanation  of  all  sudden  deaths. 

With  Robert's  seven  years  of  active  reign  as 
Duke,  we  have  no  present  concern.  The  pages 
of  history  are  full  of  his  chivalrous  actions, 
such  as  helping  his  King  keep  his  own  throne; 
of  his  somewhat  less  definite  plan  for  a  capture 
of  England  than  that  of  his  greater  son,  under 
pretence  of  restoring  his  nephews  to  their 
English  throne,  —  one  which  the  wind  and 
waves  decided  was  to  end  in  failure,  his  fleet 
being  wrecked;  also  of  his  aid  to  the  Count  of 
Flanders,  and  of  his  wars  against  Brittany. 

Altogether  Robert's  seven  years  of  reign 
were  busy  ones. 

His  son  was  thus  set  an  example  in  the  paths 
of  adventure,  and  of  the  daring  which  is  two 
thirds  of  the  art  of  conquering.  "To  have  is 
to  hold ;  "  that  was  the  lesson  of  the  capture 
of  Falaise.     Robert's  other  wars  were  admoni- 


136  FALAISE 

tory  of  the  fact  that  he  who  only  minds  his 
own  business  will  lose  an  opportunity,  per- 
chance, of  getting  a  valuable  slice  of  his 
neighbor's. 

Robert,  meanwhile,  did  not  forget  Falaise. 
In  Falaise  there  was  at  least  the  one,  possibly 
there  were  the  two,  whom  he  loved  best  in  the 
world.  His  "  little  bastard  "  was  being  brought 
up  in  that  healthful  hill  town.  Whether  or 
not  Arlette  remained  with  her  child,  his- 
torians, on  this  unimportant  point,  are  provok- 
ingly  silent.  They  all  agree,  however,  as  to 
one  fact.  Arlette  kept  Robert  her  true  lover. 
She  bound  him  fast  through  all  the  years  of 
his  life. 

Constancy,  when  love  is  domesticated  to  the 
daily  need,  is  best  preserved  not  by  absence, 
but  by  the  living  presence.  Arlette,  therefore, 
must  have  been  as  often  within  Rouen's  walls 
as  in  her  own  Falaisian  ones. 

One  of  the  chief  services  Robert's  restless 
energies  bequeathed  to  Falaise  was  his  starting 
the  Fair  that  was  subsequently  known  as  the 
Fair  of  Guibray. 

Robert  was  as  quick  as  an  American  to  act  on 


ROBERT   THE   MAGNIFICEXT  I  37 

a  new  idea.  Seeing  that  a  certain  miraculous 
discovery  of  a  statue  of  the  Virgin  was  attract- 
ing large  crowds  first  of  the  devout,  then  of 
image  vendors,  and  finally  of  merchants  of  all 
sorts,  it  occurred  to  the  Duke  to  turn  this 
accidental  oatherino-  into  the  lucrative  form  of 
a  yearly  Fair.  The  first  Fair  was  held  beneath 
the  walls  of  Robert's  own  stronghold.  There, 
where  the  roads  of  Caen  and  Tours  and  Brit- 
tany met,  came  the  merchants,  horse  traders, 
and  petty  vendors. 

Robert's  inestimable  services  to  Falaise  did 
not  stop  with  this  inauguration  of  her  long 
period  of  wealth  and  prosperity.  He  was  also 
the  founder  of  several  public  fountains  in  the 
city  of  his  love. 

In  our  own  luxurious  time,  to  "found"  a 
fountain  would  be  as  archaic  an  act  as  to  re- 
build a  feudal  fortress.  Consider  the  origi- 
nality proved  by  a  prince  in  a  semi-barbaric 
period  of  such  a  public-spirited  action  !  Robert 
also,  doubtless,  cherished  a  certain  excusable 
weakness  for  fountains.  Had  he  not  found 
Arlette  at  one  ? 

The  chroniclers,  having  stumbled  upon  this 


FALAISE 


vara  avis  of  a  prince  who  could  do  useful 
things  royally,  continue  to  discover  other  acts 
as  remarkable.  Robert  is  said  to  have  estab- 
lished the  first  hospital  in  Falaise.  Certain 
historians  are  also  to  be  found  still  quarrelling 
over  this  latter  achievement.  I,  for  one,  can- 
not see  why  the  starting  of  a  hospital,  on  an 
early  primitive  scale  should  have  been  any 
more  impossible  or  unlikely  than  a  giving  of 
the  sumptuous  and  elaborate  banquets,  so 
much  in  vogue  at  Rouen  during  that  culminat- 
ing period  of  Normandy's  importance. 

With  all  this  generous  gift  of  his  time,  his 
energies,  his  armies  and  his  treasure,  there 
was  a  darker  side  to  Robert's  character.  As 
in  his  gifts  and  feasts  he  was  "magnificent," 
his  people,  when  he  was  but  a  Count,  had 
found  him  possessing  traits  not  quite  as  lordly. 
He  was  known  to  them,  early  in  his  youth  as 
"  Robert-the-Devil."  Yet  Robert,  as  history 
paints  him,  shows  no  trace  of  any  specially 
devilish  attributes  save  in  a  quickness  of  temper 
and  certain  dark  promises  of  evil  in  youth, 
which  his  later  manhood  failed  to  confirm. 

In  two  notable   instances,   however,   Robert 


ROBERT   THE  MAGNIFICENT  139 

showed  that  the  "  devil  "  of  an  obdurate  obsti- 
nacy was  inrooted  in  him. 

Deeply  as  he  loved  Arlette,  he  never  mar- 
ried her.  A  father,  if  ever  there  was  one, 
thrilling  to  every  obligation  a  passionate  pater- 
nity had  developed,  yet  he  left  his  son  a 
bastard. 

That  Arlette  must  have  longed  and  pled  for 
the  place,  when  loved  and  honored  as  mis- 
tress, and  mother  of  a  noble  son,  that  her  lord 
had  denied  to  her  when  but  an  ignorant  and 
unknown  girl,  who  can  doubt }  Besides  all 
the  potent  reasons  for  making  her  a  lawful 
wife,  Arlette  could  point  to  not  one,  but  two, 
precedents  for  such  an  act  of  restitution  in  her 
Robert's  immediate  family.  The  first  and 
greatest  of  the  Norman  Dukes,  Rollo  himself, 
when  his  princesse  Gisella,  tlie  King's  daughter, 
died,  had  he  not  taken  to  wife  "  la  belle 
Popee  "  .f*  Years  before,  he  had  carried  her  off 
before  the  eyes  of  her  father,  the  Count  of 
Bayeux.  Having  had  her  as  his  "  Amou- 
reuse  ;  "  holding  her  dear  as  the  mother  of  his 
children  yet  he  had  heartlessly  repudiated  her 
when    he    married    Gisella.      P)ut    had    he    not 


140  FALAISE 

when  widowed,  retaken  Popee  by  the  hand 
and  married  her,  before  the  great  church  doors  ? 
If  Robert,  remembering  his  princely  blood,  had 
then  urged  in  reply  that  Popee  at  least  was  a 
Comte's  daughter,  Arlette  must  have  had  an 
answer  ready  to  her  need.  For  Richard 
the  Fearless  —  fearless  indeed  he  was  —  had 
married  Gonor,  sister-in-law  of  a  humble 
forest-guard  —  also  "  en  face  de  leglise  "  —  thus 
legitimatizing  Robert's  own  grandsire  ! 

Now  when  any  such  little  family  discussions 
came  up,  Arlette  must  have  made  it  particularly 
unpleasant  for  Robert,  I  take  it.  That  her 
arguments  were  of  no  avail,  proves  anew  that 
while  for  many  a  devil  there  are  ways  and 
tricks  of  exorcisement  not  wholly  vain,  for  the 
plague  of  obstinacy  there  is  no  cure  save  death. 

The  cure  came  about,  in  Robert's  case, 
from  his  second  recorded  act  of  stublDorn 
determination. 

Whether  it  was  that  his  quick  blood  wearied 
within  him,  because  there  were  no  more  Kings, 
or  Counts,  or  nephews  to  right,  or  vassals  to 
fight  and  conquer,  or  whether  the  charms  of 
Arlette    were    waning  (there    are    all  sorts    of 


ROBERT   THE   MAGNIFICENT  141 

reasons  for  a  man's  thinking  about  his  soul), 
Robert  announced  his  intention  of  starting  for 
the  Holv  Land.  In  Robert's  case  to  intend 
was  to  do. 

At  the  most  critical  of  all  periods  for  his 
state,  as  well  as  for  the  future  of  his  acknowl- 
edged heir,  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  protesting 
eloquence  of  his  counsellors,  did  Robert  in  the 
seventh  year  of  his  reign  proceed  to  set  out 
on  the  fashionable  penitential  journey  of  his 
day. 

Neither  Arlett.e's  prayers,  nor  the  protests 
of  his  subjects,  nor  even  a  son  s  future  hung  in 
the  balance  of  that  "  kind  of  satisfaction  which 
those  who  wished  to  do  penance  "  then  imposed 
upon  themselves  —  as  Langevin,  the  priest- 
historian,  phrases  Robert's  mistaken  enterprise. 
Being  a  man  with  a  high  sense  of  duty, 
Robert  proceeded  to  put  his  affairs  in  order. 
Before  laying  aside  the  mace  and  taking  up 
the  cross,  he  assembled  his  vassals,  presenting 
to  them  the  boy  William  as  their  future  Sover- 
eign ;  for  the  journey  to  Jerusalem  in  those  days 
was  one  to  be  undertaken  with  the  almost  sure 
certainty  of  death  meeting  one  along  the  route. 


142  FALAISE 

Later,  Robert  also  took  the  young  "bastard" 
to  Paris,  where  Henri  I  the  King,  received 
the  youth,  and  promised  to  superintend  his 
education.  Having  selected  Alain,  Duke  of 
Brittany,  to  govern  Normandy  in  his  absence, 
Robert  the  Penitent  took  leave  of  his  Duchy 
and  Arlette  and  set  out  upon  his  long  journey. 

As  all  his  life  long  this  vehement  nature  had 
never  done  anything  by  halves,  "  Robert  the 
Magnificent "  even  as  pilgrim,  was  magnificent 
still.  The  talcs  of  his  adventures  along  the 
later  well-worn  Crusader's  roads  read,  in  the 
chronicles  of  the  time,  like  the  acts  of  a  fairy 
prince  in  disguise.  Gifts  and  benefits  he  flung 
about  with  the  heedless  hand  of  the  generous. 
As  pilgrim,  however,  as  extravaganth'  did  he 
court  humiliation.  Seeing  but  a  bare-footed 
pauper  in  the  humble  garb  of  a  passing  pilgrim, 
a  certain  gate-keeper  sent  the  Duke  reeling 
from  the  force  of  a  blow  given  to  quicken  his 
pace.  The  troop  of  Norman  gentlemen  about 
him  were  for  summarily  punishing  the  insolent 
guard. 

"Don't  touch  him,"  cried  the  Duke.  "  It  is 
but  reasonable  and  just  that  men  should  suffer 


ROBERT   THE   MAGXIFICENT  143 

for  the  love  of  God.  I  love  the  blow  he  oave 
me  better  than  my  city  of  Rouen." 

When  he  fell  ill  in  the  country  of  the  Sara- 
cens, "  au  pays  de  Sarrasins,"  and  was  forced 
to  take  to  his  litter,  his  wit  was  as  nimble  as 
when  he  had  seen  a  humorous  vengeance  in 
forcing  a  recalcitrant  \assal  to  do  him  homage 
with  a  saddle  on  his  back.  Four  and  four,  his 
sixteen  Saracens  carried  him  by  turn.  A  cer- 
tain Norman,  returning  from  the  Holy  Land, 
as  he  made  his  salutations,  asked  of  the  Duke 
what  message  he  could  carry  back  to  his  people. 

"  Thou  canst  tell  my  people  and  my  friends," 
said  the  Duke  — one  seems  to  hear  the  strong 


& 


Norman  laughter  through  the  words,  —  "that 
thou  mettest  me  thus,  and  here,  where  four 
devils  were  carrying  me  to  Paradise." 

Before  he  went  to  Paradise,  he  knelt  at  the 
sacred  sepulchre.  The  splendor  of  his  offer- 
ings was  a  nine  days'  wonder.  On  the  return 
journey,  however,  after  drinking  some  foul 
water  at  Nicea?,  he  died. 

On  the  brow  of  a  boy  of  seven  the  ducal 
crown  of  Normandy  then  rested. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    YOUNG    DUKE    WILLIAM    AT    FALAISE 

I  HAVE  a  little  Bastard,"  Robert  had  cried 
o-randly  to  his  Barons,  whom  he  had  sum- 
moned about  him  at  Rouen,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  making  the  above  announcement, 
"  who  will  grow  up,  if  God  so  wills  it,  of  whose 
prudence  and  valor  I  hope  much.  I  have  no 
doubt  whatsoever  that  he  is  of  my  begetting, 
therefore  I  pray  you  receive  him  as  your  Lord, 
and  from  henceforth  I  present  him  to  you  of 
the  Duchy  as  my  heir."  '* 

To  swear  allegiance  to  a  child  of  seven 
and  a  bastard,  might  well  have  seemed  an 
act  of  folly  even  to  men  whose  sense  of 
humor  was  but  rudimentally  developed,  or 
Feudalism  would  never  have  had  a  chance  of 
moulding  modern  society.  As  it  fell  out, 
bastard  thougli  William  was,  there  was  no  one 
among  his  relations  who  was  any  better  off  in 
the     matter    of    legitimacy.     His    immediate 


VOUXG   DUKE    WILL/AM  AT  FALAISE       1 45 

cousins  were  either  churchmen,  or  women,  or  of 
birth  as  tainted  as  his  own.  llie  Barons,  there- 
fore, acclaimed  the  child  Duke.  William,  look- 
ing twice  his  age,  and  with  a  something  in  his 
look  and  carriage  which  bore  out  his  father's 
boast  of  the  quality  in  him,  then  began  the 
long  fifty-two  years  of  his  troubled  but  triumph- 


ant reign. 


The  tweh'C  years  following  his  father's  death 
and  his  own  accession  were  spent  in  going  to 
school.  As  one  of  his  more  famous  historians 
tersely  remarks,  his  schooling  was  a  stern  one. 
At  an  age  when  a  modern  boy's  most  serious 
occupation  is  an  innocuous  thievery  of  birds' 
nests,  or  a  playing  at  the  knavery  of  desperado, 
William  was  in  training  for  his  Knighthood. 
At  twelve  he  had  already  lived  the  life  of  a 
page  and  courtier  at  Paris  and  Rouen ;  at 
barely  thirteen  he  proved  himself  soldier  with 
the  makings  in  him  of  a  general,  leading 
a  brilliant  assault  upon  his  own  Castle  of 
Falaise. 

There  are  certain  touns,  like  some  women, 
who  carry  with  them  the  magic  of  a  good  in- 
fluence.    Falaise  was  such  an  influence  in  the 


146  FALAISE 

great  Duke's  early  life.  His  real  childhood 
was  passed  there.  On  the  grassy  fortress 
ramparts,  he  was  trained  to  his  first  knowledge 
and  skill  in  the  use  of  arms  in  whose  wielding 
he  was  to  show,  later,  such  prowess.  Falaise 
also,  gave  William  his  first  chance  of  proving 
to  his  Barons  and  his  Duchy  that  that  which 
had  been  given  to  him  he  meant  to  keep.  It 
was  at  Falaise  that,  with  his  first  victory,  even 
as  boy,  he  showed  that  while  he  could  be 
merciful  in  the  hour  of  victory,  he  could  use 
victory  and  meant  so  to  do,  to  wipe  the  hated 
stain  from  off  his  name.  He  righted  his 
mother  there. 

If  down  in  the  Valdante  Robert  had  found 
the  rapture  of  that  illicit  love  that  was  to 
darken  his  g^reater  son's  career,  William,  in  his 
turn,  found  in  his  great  fortress  uplifted,  v.-ell- 
nigh  impregnable,  an  arm  of  power  which, 
even  as  a  child,  he  knew  how  to  use. 

There  could  never  have  been  a  time  when 
the  possession  of  so  noble  a  structure  as  was 
the  Chateau  of  Falaise  could  have  failed  to 
have  had  its  effect  on  so  impressionable  a 
nature   as    William's.      If  the  fin2:er   of  scorn 


VOC/XG  DUKE    WILLIAM  AT  FALAISE      1 47 

could  be  pointed  at  his  mother,  Arlette,  as  she 
sat  in  the  house  near  the  square,  a  house  long 
known  as  "  Le  Manoir  de  Guillaume,"  where 
William's  own  earliest  childhood  was  presum- 
ably spent,  how  the  fiery  glow  of  pride  must  have 
burned  in  the  boy's  soul,  when  he  thought  of 
the  o-reat  fortress  that  was  his.  Fierce  re- 
solves  of  vengeance,  hot  vows  of  valorous 
deeds  to  be  done,  must  the  possessorship  of  such 
a  stronghold  have  bred  in  the  boy's  breast. 
How  these  vows  were  kept  the  maimed  citizens 
of  Alen9on  could  have  told  you. 

The  Falaise  of  the  eleventh  century  pre- 
sented a  very  different  aspect  to  the  young 
impressionable  eye  of  the  boy-Duke  than  it 
does  to-day  to  our  delighted  gaze. 

The  Falaise  that  William  lived  in  was  a 
town  of  scattered  groups  of  houses,  built 
mostly  of  wood ;  mean  and  low  dwellings  they 
would  seem  to  us.  with  their  more  or  less  filthy 
interiors.  These  poorer  dwellings  were  in- 
terspersed with  the  larger,  more  commodious 
houses  —  "  manoirs  "  of  nobles  and  the  well-to- 
do  ;  for  Falaise,  from  its  earliest  days,  appears  to 
have  been  the  resort  of  Norman  nobility,  rather 


148  FA  LAIS E 

than  of  merchants.  These  houses  lined  the 
larger  streets  that  were  not  much  wider  than  a 
man's  mantle.  The  narrow  streets  were  be- 
clouded with  dust  in  summer;  and  in  wet  or 
winter  weather,  they  were  a  bog  of  mud  and 
mire.  These  streets,  mean  as  they  were, 
formed,  nevertheless,  an  important  eleventh- 
century  town.  As  such  it  was  one  to  be  forti- 
fied and  protected.  Great  walls  stretched 
about  the  long  nave-like  height  on  which 
Falaise  was  built.  The  gates  of  the  town 
were  not  as  numerous  in  William  s  day  as  tliey 
were  later,  wlien  six  noble  gates,  some  of  which 
with  their  towers  and  turrets  were  each  a  for- 
tress in  themselves,  with  their  stores  and  garri- 
sons, made  the  fortifications  of  Falaise  a  terror 
to  France  for  long  centuries. 

Of  the  churches  we  now  study  so  admiringly 
in  Falaise,  not  one,  as  now  built,  was  standing 
in  William's  time.  In  the  market  square,  on 
the  site  of  St.  Gervais,  there  stood,  in  his 
time  a  chapel,  known  as  La  Chapelle  Ducale. 
When  he  beo-an  to  feel  the  buildinor  mania  of 
his  age  possess  him  the  chapel  was  torn  down, 
and  the  Norman  structure  of  St.  Gervais  was 


YOUNG  DUKE    WILLIAM  AT  FALAISE      149 

begun.  In  the  square  close  to  the  gates  of  the 
fortress,  known  as  ''La  Place  Guillaume,"  in 
this  square  the  older  church  of  St.  Trinite 
stood,  where  William   was  baptized. 


^a^i:^^^. 


Place  Gjiillamtie  le  Conque'ranf,  Falaise. 


The  heart  and  soul  of  eleventh-century 
Falaise  were  not,  however,  in  its  wall-begirt 
town,  in  its  market  squares,  or  in  its  churches. 
Its  true  life  throbbed  within  its  fortress  walls. 
As  in  the  gymnasia  of  the  Greeks  all  that  was 
best  of  social  or  military  life  was  to  be  seen 
and  met,  so  a  great  feudal  fortress  such  as 
that   of    Falaise,   was   the   centre,    not   only   of 


150  FALAISE 

Falaise  itself,  but  of  the  surrounding  country. 
In  times  of  peace,  the  fortress  was  the 
rallying  point,  the  natural  meeting  place  for 
all  the  huntsmen  and  friendly  nobles  of  its 
immediate  neighborhood.  In  those  days  of  a 
fighting  life  there  were  but  two  occupations 
for  the  well-born,  —  war  and  the  chase.  When 
neither  besieging  nor  being  besieged,  the  nobles 
took  to  flying  their  falcons,  or  to  a  slay- 
inor  of  the  boar  or  other  wild  beasts.  As 
Robert  had  found,  the  forests  of  Gouffern  and 
Eraines  were  matchless  in  the  quantity  and 
variety  of  beasts  and  birds  to  be  killed. 

The  hunts  organized  from  the  chateau,  there- 
fore, offered  unparalleled  advantages  to  the 
surrounding  nobility. 

While  the  almost  trackless  forests  resounded 
to  the  ring  of  the  horn,  on  the  sunny  ramparts 
of  the  fortress  the  clash  of  steel  the  tramp  of 
horses'  hoofs,  and  shock  of  mimic  contest  rose 
up  day  after  day.  For  if  the  forests  surround- 
ing Falaise  were  unrivalled  from  a  sportsman's 
point  of  view,  the  great  fortress  terraces  or 
plains  were  equally  famous  as  offering  an  ideal 
training  ground   for  the  Norman  youth.      This 


VOCWG  DUKE    WILLIAM  AT  FALAISE       15  I 

training  in  the  various  arts  of  chivalry  began 
at  an  earlv  aire.  The  blows  that  were  to  tell 
so  powerfully  in  the  battle  of  \'al-es-Dunes;  — 
that  masterly  handling  of  the  mace  that  won 
William  his  way  to  the  Senlac  heights  on  the 
greatest  of  all  days  for  a  Norman,  were  first 
given  with  feebler,  but  skilful  touch,  on  the 
Falaisian  ramparts,  by  the  child  William. 
Here  also,  William  formed  those  lasting- 
friendships  with  the  young  nobles  of  the 
neighborhood,  friendships  which  were  to  tell 
so  powerfully  at  Mantes,  at  Alen9on,  and  at 
Hastings.  From  his  earliest  days  his  Falai- 
sians  were  true  to  him.  They  followed  him 
at  his  first  boy's  siege  of  his  fortress;  they 
were  about  him  at  Val-es-Dunes,  at  Alencon,  at 
\^araville,  at  Domfront,  at  Mantes.  When 
they  followed  him  across  the  seas  to  England. 
William  rewarded  them  as  a  conqueror  should  ; 
he  divided  among  them,  with  lavish  hand, 
the  English  lands  they  had  helped  him  to 
win. 

Although  a  Duke's  son  and  heir,  William, 
during  his  childhood  was  known  to  his  subjects 
of  Falaise,  as  a  Lord  was  rarely  known. 


152  FALAISE 

For  there  was  the  house  near  the  square 
where  his  mother  sat.  This  house  — "  Le 
Manoir  de  Guillaume,"  as  it  was  called  —  stood 
on  the  Rue  Campferme  close  to  the  immemori- 
ally  old  square.  Besides  his  mother,  after 
his  father  had  gone  on  his  penitent's  pilgrim- 
age, the  figure  of  William's  plebeian  grandfather 
must  also  have  been  a  familiar  one  in  and 
about  the  house.  Robert,  when  he  turned 
pilgrim,  had  no  further  use  for  a  valet;  the 
simplicity  of  the  pilgrim's  garb  precluded 
the  possibility  of  valeting  being  a  necessity. 
Verpray  being,  therefore,  to  put  it  somewhat 
forcibly,  both  out  of  place  and  an  occupation, 
must  inevitably  have  drifted  back  to  his  old 
haunts.  For  habit  is  strong.  Even  after  a 
rise  in  the  world  to  be  a  Duke's  valet  —  to 
which  place  his  son-in-law  had  unwisely  raised 
him  — even  after  one  has  had  to  do  with  rich 
mantles,  has  handled  ducal  crowns  and 
jewelled  clasps,  one's  fingers  still  may  itch, 
I  say,  for  coarse  tough  hides,  and  one  may 
pant  for  the  smell  of  such  in  a  cleft  where 
a  tiny  river  runs. 

With  a  grandfather  whose  highest  position 


YOL^iXG  DUKE    WILLIAM  AT  FALAISE      153 

had  been  that  of  valet  and  whose  chosen 
haunts  were,  presumably,  the  tanner's  quarters  ; 
and  with  a  mother  who,  however  dear  and 
tender,  must  still  be  held  as  one  apart,  there 
was  iiideed  no  chance  for  William  to  forget 
his  bastardy,  or  for  his  youthful  comrades  to 
feel  that  impassable  distance  otherwise  ren- 
dered inevitable  by  virtue  of  the  lad's  high 
rank. 


CHAPTER    IV 

William's  capture  of  falaise 

WILLIAM'S  first  appearance  in  the  char- 
acter of  warrior  was  one  to  stir  the  blood. 
Its  appeal  to  the  imagination  is  still  a  potent 
one.  The  situation  was  instinct  with  those  ele- 
ments of  romance  which  make  an  historic  per- 
formance occasionally  as  thrilling  and  complete, 
in  dramatic  incident  and  mise-en-scene^  as  the 
setting  of  a  Shakespearian  play  or  of  a  Dumas 
novel. 

Not  a  sino^le  detail  or  trick  of  circumstance 
so  dear  to  the  writer  of  romantic  tragedy  was 
w^anting.  There  were  even  one  or  two  points 
which  might  not  have  been  ventured  upon,  by 
even  the  "  King  of  Romantics,"  so  wildly 
impossible  were  they. 

There,  well  up  in  the  foreground,  so  to  speak, 
was  tlie  Chateau  of  Falaise,  as  ideal  a  feudal 
fortress  as  one  could  conceive.  The  finest  crea- 
tive instinct  could  not  have  imagined  one  better 


WILLIAM- S   CAPTURE    OF  FALAISE        I  55 

placed,  with  due  regard  to  splendor  of  situation 
and  appointment,  one  uniting,  more  pictorially, 
o-rim  streno-th  and  a  lyrical  background. 

Within  the  stern  fortress  frame  were  just  the 
right  characters  —  those  dearest  to  the  heart  of 
the  dramatist  and  to  our  own ;  for  in  these 
tamer,  more  conventional  days,  what  morsel  so 
delectable  to  the  palate  of  the  imagination  as  a 
black-hearted  traitor? 

Treachery  was  as  common  in  these  grand  old 
fiehtino-  eleventh-centurv  davs  as  it  is  in  our  own 
time  when  we  call  it  by  less  unpopular  names. 

If  ever  a  King  was  bound  by  the  commonest 
ties  of  decency,  gratitude,  and  honor  to  a 
youthful  heir,  Henry,  King  of  the  French,  in 
the  years  of  William's  minority  was  to  the  said 
William.  But  Henry  could  conveniently  for 
get  his  debt  to  Robert ;  forget  his  vow  to 
cherish  and  protect  his  son  ;  forget,  in  a  word 
he  was  both  King  and  Christian  in  his  entirely 
natural  human  desire  to  possess  Normandy. 
For  Henry  was  French.  The  Normans  were 
still  the  Northmen.  After  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  of  occupancy  all  France  agreed  that 
to  win  back  a  valuable  seaboard,  to  retake  and 


156  FALAISE 

to  remake  Rouen  a  French  city,  to  abase  Nor- 
man power  and  Norman  ambition  were  acts 
worthy  a  French  King's  ambition.  Where 
were  the  treaties,  promises,  or  vows  that  could 
stand  against  such  patriotic  projects  ?  Henry, 
therefore,  grasped  the  first  opportunity  offered 
to  have  his  hand  in  the  game  of  dismember- 
ing the  formidable  Duchy.  The  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  must  have  seemed  one 
heaven- worked. 

Toustain — or  Thurstain,  as  Englishmen  call 
the  canny  son  of  a  canny  Danish  father,  was 
the  instrument  chosen  by  God  —  if  you  looked 
at  the  situation  from  the  Parisian  standpoint, 
instead  of  from  Rouen's  point  of  view.  Tou- 
stan,  as  Vicomte  of  Hiemes,  was  governor  — 
"  maitre  "  of  the  Falaisian  stronghold. 

Henry,  backed  by  the  large  party  of  dis- 
affected Norman  nobles — who,  on  principle, 
were  for  any  heir  rather  than  the  riglitful  one, 
and  also  by  the  strength  of  French  feeling,  had 
begun  to  lay  waste  a  Duchy  which  he  short- 
sightedly believed  might,  possibly,  one  day  be 
his.  There  was  an  earlier  quarrel  about  a 
certain  fortress  at  Tillieres  which  need  not  be 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE        157 

entered  into  here.  In  this  previous  affair 
Henry  ah'eady  had  shown  how  untrustwortliy 
a  King's  oath  might  be. 

When  Kings  lead  the  way  in  the  broad  road 
of  dislionor,  why  should  lesser  men  hesitate  } 

Toustain,  who  should  have  marched  out,  to 
give  Henry  a  reminder  that  he  was  on  Wil- 
liam's territory,  when  the  French  King  was 
devastating  Exmes  or  Hiesmois,  did  nothing 
of  the  sort.  Instead,  he  paid  his  King  the 
flattering  tribute  of  imitation.  He,  too,  turned 
traitor.  While  Henry  was  gaily  devastating 
Hiesmois,  Toustain,  on  liis  part,  proposed  a 
bit  of  rascality  entirely  in  keeping,  it  appears, 
with  the  spirit  of  the  age.  He  suggested  to 
Henry  that  he  (Toustain)  should  surrender 
Falaise  and  its  fortress  in  return  for  the  rich 
country  of  Hiesmois  of  which  he  himself  was 
Vicomte.  Henry  leapt  at  the  suggestion.  He 
even  sent  a  French  garrison  to  help  swell 
Toustain's  troops,  in  fear  lest  the  fortress 
should  have  to  fight  the  faithful  Normans  still 
left. 

The  fortress,  with  this  possibility  before  it, 
took  its  precautionary  measures.     Its  stores  of 


158  FALAISE 

provisions  were  increased,  and  the  French  gar- 
rison was  hurried  in.  Soon,  from  the  chateau's 
ramparts  and  terraces  were  sent  echoing  down 
the  valleys  the  sounds  men  love  best.  From 
the  ramparts  came  the  tramp  of  armed  men; 
from  the  towers  and  turrets  of  tlie  great 
ofates  came  the  rino^  of  steel  and  the  chorus 
of  soldiers'  voices. 

Below,  the  wide  moats  reflected  the  image 
of  the  fortress  above,  armed  to  its  teeth,  — 
awaiting  attack. 

And  in  the  valleys  of  the  X^aldante,  in  faith- 
ful, indignant  Falaise,  men  shivered  and  shud- 
dered, and  wondered  what  sign  from  Heaven 
would  come  to  announce  a  deliverer. 

This  part  of  the  scene,  I  think  you  will 
concede,  was  fairly  well  set. 

But  the  best  is  to  come.  It  is  not  in  the  first, 
but  in  the  second  act  of  this  moving  drama, 
we  are  to  get  the  very   heart  of  action. 

From  across  the  abyss  of  nearly  ten  cen- 
turies of  time,  the  ear  seems  still  to  catch  the 
sounds  of  a  dashing  headlong  ride.  Out  from 
Rouen,  from  a  ducal  palace,  down  the  Seine, 
across  it,  swifter  and  swifter  swept  the  flying 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FA  LA  IS  E       159 

figure  of  the  boy-Duke.  By  his  side,  with  as 
eager  a  bound,  rode  his  tutor-governor  — 
Raoul  de  Gace.  Now  this  Ralph,  Hke  all  the 
more  enerijetic  men  of  his  time,  had  one  or 
two  purple  patches  on  his  soul.  On  his  inner, 
secret  list  of  what  might  be  termed  the  strictly 
professional  acts  of  a  Norman  nobleman  of  his 
time,  he  had  a  murder  or  two.  Murderer 
though  he  had  been,  yet,  as  guardian,  so  pecu- 
liar was  the  code  of  personal  honor  in  those 
days,  this  Ralph  was  rather  of  the  ideal  type. 
His  boy-Duke  was  his  Duke  —  he  would  fight 
for  him  to  the  death. 

Thus  the  two  rode,  of  one  mind,  one  sure 
and  deadly  purpose  theirs.  As  they  rode,  they 
gathered  their  army  about  them.  "Gels  d'Auge 
et  eels  de  Cingalais"  ("those  of  the  country  of 
Auge  and  those  of  Cingalais,"  Wace  tells  us,) 
joined  themselves  to  William.  As  he  neared 
Falaise,  his  troops,  like  those  Achilles  had 
brought  to  life  by  a  mere  stamping  of  his  heel, 
seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  very  earth.  His 
Falaisians  were  to  find  their  deliverers  in  their 
own  nobles,  led  by  their  own  native-born  child- 
Duke. 


l6o  FALAISE 

One  can  imagine  the  outburst  of  enthusiasm 
at  the  sight  of  this  boy  leader  of  twelve,  head- 
ing his  Normans,  marching  through  the  streets 
of  his  town,  to  re-capture  his  own  —  his  father's 
chief  fortress.  Child  though  he  was,  he  is  said 
to  have  looked  and  played  his  man's  part,  with 
the  better  verisimilitude  in  that  he  looked 
twice  his  age.  In  figure  he  was  tall  Already 
his  bearing  was  that  of  a  young  conqueror. 
His  eyes  were  noticeable  for  their  eagle-like 
size  and  the  directness  of  their  gaze.  His 
power  and  skill  in  the  use  of  weapons  marked 
him  as  among  the  most  doughty  lads  of  the 
kingdom.  On  that  first  of  his  leading  of  his 
nobles  to  battle,  those  who  had  played  and 
trained  with  him  on  the  very  ramparts  they 
were  now  to  re-capture  must  have  remarked 
exultingly  that  the  plains  of  Falaise  had  done 
their  work  well. 

William  attacked  his  fortress  from  the 
Falaisian,  the  town  side.  He  stormed  the  city 
o-ate  —  Porte-du-Chateau,  and  the  walls  about  it. 
In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  a  breach 
was  made.  Before  the  boy's  army  had  time  to 
enter  the  path  they  had  made  for  themselves, 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       i6l 

Toustain  came  to  his  senses.  Frightened  at 
so  surprisingly  swift  a  transformation  of  his 
boy  over-Lord  into  a  general,  and  one,  too,  com- 
manding such  an  exceeding  multitude  of  brave 
men,  he  ignominiously  begged  for  quarter  and 
for  permission  to  retire  from  the  country. 

Both  these  favors  were  granted  him.  Once 
in  possession  of  the  fortress  he  loved,  William's 
natural  magnanimity,  a  magnanimity  which 
was  to  distinguish  him  all  the  rest  of  his  life  — 
save  when  stung  to  cruelty  by  insult  —  made 
him  facile  in  moments  of  victory. 

Toustain  the  traitor,  therefore,  went  un- 
harmed down  through  the  fortress  gates,  gloom 
and  hate  his  following  shades.  Meanwhile,  on 
the  bright  Falaisian  cliffs,  the  air  was  pure  and 
sweet  once  more.  A  boy  with  radiant  face,  his 
youthful  senses  still  heady  with  the  sense  of 
conquest,  re-visited  every  inch  of  his  re-con- 
quered fortress.  Followed  by  the  shouting, 
exultant  troops,  by  his  nobles,  now  won  to  their 
child-Duke  by  clasps  of  steel,  (for  had  they  not 
found  in  this  child-form  a  general  and  a  Duke 
after  their  own  heart .'')  William  passed  in 
review  the  scenes  of  his  real  childhood.     Across 


I  62  FA LAIS E 

the  rampart  plains  where  he  was  first  taught  to 
play  the  man's  part;  across  the  airy,  leaf-domed 
valleys  to  the  rocks  and  gorges  he  had  climbed  ; 
across,  also,  to  the  forests  where,  in  following 
the  hunt,  he  had  gotten  his  soldier's  and 
huntsman's  seat  —  all  this  land  beneath  and 
about  him,  was  his  very  own. 

From  out  of  every  Norman-arched  window; 
from  the  guard's  hall  up  from  the  chateau  ter- 
races ;  from  all  the  valleys  of  Mont  Mirat —  what 
heads  upon  heads  of  soldiers,  nobles,  and  lovely 
women  !  What  shouts  and  acclamations  must 
have  risen  skyward!  For  this  child  of  Falaise, 
the  child  of  sin —  yes,  of  shame  —  was  now  the 
Deliverer,  the  Saviour.  Bright  as  carven  marble 
shone  the  figure  of  the  young  hero  on  the  cliff. 

Here,  also,  let  it  be  noted,  this  youthful  figure, 
once  having  leapt  to  take  his  place  in  the 
drama  of  his  time,  at  a  single  bound,  as  it  were, 
holds  it  forthwith  to  the  very  end.  From  the 
moment  of  that  headlong  ride  from  Rouen,  to 
the  day  when,  across  burning  Mantes  his  horse 
stumbled  and  gave  the  Conqueror  the  blow  that 
killed  him,  William  holds  the  high  historic 
place  of  the  foremost  man  of  his  time. 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE        1 63 

The  use  William  made  of  his  first  won 
power  was  significant  of  the  whole  character 
of  the  man  who,  after  Charlemagne  and  Rollo 
his  grandsire,  was  to  give  to  Normandy  its  first 
shapely  moulding  in  the  ways  of  law  and  order. 

His  first  act,  following  this,  his  first  victory, 
was  of  the  right  heroic  stamp.  It  is  ever  the 
office  of  the  hero,  in  all  proper  drama,  to  reward 
virtue  and  to  rioht  the  wrono-ed.  Perceivinfj 
there  was  somethino-  out  of  ethical  o-ear  in  his 
own  family,  William  proceeded  at  once  to  do 
what  was  expected  of  him. 

As  grandly  and  with  as  serene  a  calm  as  if 
awarding  captured  lands  and  booty  had  been 
his  whole  childish  occupation,  William  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  give  a  part  of  Toustain's 
lands  as  a  marria2:e  o;ift  to  his  niother.  For 
his  mother  needed,  in  this  her  son's  hour  of 
triumph,  but  one  thing,  but  that  she  needed 
badly.  W^illiam  and  his  governor  de  Gace 
proceeded  to  fill  her  want.  A  mother,  and  yet 
no  wife,  there  was  nothing  Arlette  stood  in  so 
great  a  need  of  as  marriage  lines. 

When  ladies  are  sufficiently  highly  placed, 
there    are  as  a  rule  men  —  and  brave  men  — 


164  FALAISE 

who  find  ladies  in  Arlette's  sad  plight,  doubly 
rich  in  charms.  To  so  fair  a  coin,  they  are  more 
than  willing  to  give  the  official  sanction  of  their 
own  reio^n.  Amons:  Toustain's  train  of  nobles 
was  a  brave  warrior,  one  Herlevin  of  Conteville. 

He  was,  therefore,  a  Falaisian  neighbor. 
Him  did  William  choose  as  lawful  husband  of 
his  still  lovely  mother. 

Arlette,  therefore,  found  her  second  entrance 
upon  the  historic  stage  as  dramatically  set  as 
was  the  first.  It  was  from  the  great  fortress 
of  Falaise  that  love  came  to  lift  her  from 
obscurity  to  greatness.  Once  more,  destiny,  as 
if  touched  with  a  divine  compassion,  meted 
out  to  her  a  golden  justice  through  the  portals 
of  the  same  great  structure.  There  where  she 
had  obediently  given  herself  up  to  her  ducal 
lover,  fulfilling  the  double  duty  of  daughter  and 
mother,  fate  had  sent  her  that  crown  of  woman- 
hood—  a  true  and  lawful  husband  by  the  hand 
of  her  bastard,  though  noble  offspring. 

In  other  places  besides  the  fortress,  there- 
fore, were  feasts  spread,  did  minstrels  sing, 
and  w^as  there  pomp  of  trailing  cyclades  and 
jewelled  splendors. 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FA  LA  IS E        165 

William,  in  thus  assuming  the  role  of  a 
merciful  destiny,  thought  doubtless,  he  might 
avert  its  blows  from  descending  in  his  own 
direction.  He  could  never  have  remembered 
the  time  when  from  his  babyhood  upwards, 
this  blot  upon  his  birth  had  not  darkened  his 
life.  Twin-born  with  his  earliest  impressions 
of  the  life-whirl  about  him,  of  his  own  half- 
accepted —  more  or  less  roughly  disputed  claim 
to  power  and  pre-eminence  —  was  this  darkening 
shadow  across  his  childish  vision.  The  shadow 
was  there  where  he  had  played  on  the  fortress 
ramparts  with  the  boy-nobles  who,  boy-fashion, 
would  not  fear  to  taunt  him  with  a  fact  boys 
love  to  handle  as  their  deadliest  weapon  of 
insult.  The  shadow  rested  upon  him  when  he 
had  stood  in  the  presence  of  all  his  father's 
court,  and  great  and  mighty  nobles  had  knelt 
in  homage  and  had  kissed  his  child's  hands; 
it  had  gone  up  with  him  to  Paris,  to  the  King's 
Court,  where,  prospective  Duke  as  he  was,  he 
was  duly  made  to  feel  he  was  not  as  other 
children  were,  whose  mothers  could  be  as  com- 
fortably mentioned  as  the  King's  own  wife  — 
the  Oueen ;  and  all  throuQ^h  his  earlier  Rouen- 


1 66  FALAISE 

nais  reign,  the  same  shadow  had  seemed  to 
grow  with  his  growth.  He  could  gauge  its 
direful  significance  and  its  power  of  making 
things  harder  and  harder  for  him  from  the 
ever-recurring  talk  in  council  of  rebellious 
nobles  and  rumors  of  the  King's  war  upon 
his  Duchy. 

For  one  glorious  moment  at  the  fortress 
the  shadow  had  seemed  to  be  lifted.  With  that 
first  deep  indrawn  breath  of  triumphant  victory 
as  boy,  William  learned  the  intoxicating  secret 
that  power  could  make  men  afraid.  Before 
the  flash  of  a  sword-blade,  the  lips  that  were 
framing  "  Bastard "  instead  would  shout  out 
"  Conqueror." 

Had  he  never  been  "  Bastard  "  who  knows 
whether  as  "Conqueror"  William  might  also 
have  been  great  .f*  The  forces  that  mould  most 
lives  are  sufficiently  complex.  If  ever  a  life 
proved  its  source  of  impulse,  the  initiative  of 
its  fixed  determination  to  secure  a  Power,  a 
Place  to  which  all  must  yield  and  bow,  the 
life  of  William  of  Normandy,  Bastard  —  and 
Duke  —  offers  to  the  world  its  secret. 

When    the    strong   suffer,    they    learn    their 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       167 

strength.  William's  sensitiveness  to  a  personal 
insult  was  the  revelation  of  that  unceasing  pur- 
suit for  power  so  exalted  that  the  "  Conqueror" 
should  blot  out  the  "  Bastard." 

It  was  as  a  refuge  against  the  most  ferocious 
attack  ever  attempted  on  the  life  of  the  young 
Duke,  that  Falaise  was  next  to  serve  William. 

As  strong  natures  seem  to  invite  the  attacks 
of  a  perverse  fate,  thus  precipitating,  as  it  were, 
the  drama  of  their  life  and  career  by  virtue  of  a 
courage  and  strength  which,  fearing  nothing, 
attempt  all  things,  so  did  both  William  and  his 
beloved  fortress  again  and  again  appear  to 
tempt  rebellion,  treachery  and  murder  to  do 
their  worst. 

In  the  year  1046  William  was  inspired  to 
take  a  certain  journey  in  his  domain  of  Nor- 
mandy. To  go  as  far  as  Valognes,  up  in  the 
"peninsular  "  of  Cotentin,  close  to  Cherbourg, 
was,  in  William's  day,  to  undertake  a  serious 
stretch  of  travel. 

Valognes,  whose  calm  captures  you  to-day 
at  the  first  glance,  whose  streets  wear  so 
demurely  the  magisterial  splendor  of  fine 
fa9ades,    great    windows,   curved    wrought-iron 


1 68  FALAISE 

balconies,  and  ample  portc-cocJieres  built  ex- 
pressly for  the  pompous  state  of  a  provincial 
nobility ;  where  a  tiny  river  ripples  gently  past 
the  debris  of  fortresses,  chateaux,  and  gar- 
dens in  ruins;  where,  what  was  once  a  city 
full  of  sedan  chairs,  carrying  real  marquises 
and  plumed  marchionesses,  councillors  great  in 
wigs,  seneschals  and  governors  in  the  magnifi- 
cence of  their  gowns  and  furbelows,  —  this 
the  "  Little  Paris  "  of  two  centuries  ago,  is,  in 
our  day,  but  a  city  of  the  dead.  Nothing  and 
no  one  you  will  find  in  all  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Valognes  seems  now-a-days  to  be 
quite  fully  awake.  The  whole  town  appears  to 
have  fallen  into  the  traditional  Sleeping  Beauty 
stage.  One  by  one  its  garments  have  fallen 
away  in  rags  and  tatters  about  it. 

In  William's  day  Valognes  was  a  part  of  that 
portion  of  Normandy  which  was  more  Danish 
than  French. 

All  that  part  of  Normandy  beyond  Caen, 
was  the  headquarters  of  William's  rebellious 
subjects.  The  country  to  the  east  of  the  river 
Dives  was  the  more  frenchified  Normandy  — 
the  country  Rollo  and  his  "  Pirates"  had  found 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       1 69 

the  more  easily  governed  because  of  that  base 
of  civilization  already  prepared  by  the  Roman 
occupation.  But  in  Saxon  Bayeux  (a  colony 
of  Saxons  had  fled  to  Bayeux  before  the 
Danes  came  to  conquer  it)  and  in  Danish 
Coutances  and  all  the  lands  about,  revolt  was 
the  more  easily  spread  because  of  the  preva- 
lence of  the  Teutonic  turbulence  among  nobles 
who  were  still  half-heathen. 

This  western-most  Normandy  was,  therefore, 
the  hot-bed  of  William's  most  rebellious  sub- 
jects. With  his  characteristic  indifference  to 
danger,  William  fluno-  himself  into  the  centre 
of  this  country  of  hating,  intriguing,  treacher- 
ous Cotentin.  William's  presence  proved  too 
great  an  irritant  for  Norman  Lords  whose 
fingers  were  never  happier  than  when  at  play 
with  either  the  dagger  or  the  sword.  Prior  to 
his  coming  a  conspiracy  w^as  already  in  process 
of  development.  As  chief  and  front  of  the 
warming  process  was  a  cousin  of  William's  — 
one  Guy  of  Burgundy.  This  Guy,  being  deep 
in  William's  debt,  was  the  better  equipped  for 
the  part  of  villain.  His  pride  of  birth — he 
was  one  of  the  rare  leoitimates  in  the  house  of 


lyo  FA  LA  IS  E 

Rollo  —  made  up  for  any  trifling  loss  in  pride 
of  honor. 

The  conspiracy,  according  to  all  accounts, 
was  going  on  beautifully.  Guy  had  agreed  in 
the  handsomest  manner  possible,  in  the  event 
of  their  project  being  successful,  merely  to  be 
Duke  of  the  lands  east  of  the  Dives;  the  great 
Western  Lords  were  to  carve  up  their  own 
lands  —  and  each  other,  in  such  ways  as  best 
suited  them.  Nor  could  any  plan  have  been 
more  eminently  satisfactory,  to  an  expert  pro- 
fessional conspirator,  than  the  way  in  which 
William  was  to  be  despatched.  His  end  was 
to  be  edifyingly  complete.  He  was  to  be  seized 
by  all  of  the  nobles.  Whoever  was  luckiest 
was  to  have  the  stabbing  of  him.  The  plan  as 
a  plan,  you  see,  was  projected  on  the  very 
broadest  lines. 

Meanwhile,  I  presume,  all  the  pretty  manners 
and  affable  ways  common  to  conspirators  on  or 
off  the  stage,  who  are  of  the  truly  noble  villain 
stature,  were  being  indulged  in.  William, 
no  boy  now,  but,  at  nearly  nineteen  a  grown 
man,  was  unquestionably  made  as  sure  of 
the    devotion    of    these    his    subjects,    crowd- 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       171 

ino;  the  court  he  held  at  the  lovely  town  of 
Valognes,  as  bows,  and  tiatteries,  and  servile 
homage,  again  and  again  have  duped  the 
cleverest  men,  cradling  their  suspicion  into 
somnolence. 

It  is  a  pity  that  a  plot,  to  succeed,  must 
always  be  talked  over.  That  busy  whispering 
of  arch  traitors  to  which  we  listen  with  patient 
indulgence,  on  the  mimic  stage,  as  being  purely 
a  dramatic  necessity,  is  truer  to  fact  than  we 
are  willing  to  concede.  The  busy  whispering 
has  been  the  cause  of  ruin  to  most  of  the  plans 
made  for  the  doing  of  evil.  Could  the  Devil 
but  teach  his  disciples  to  hold  their  tongues  he 
yet  might  rule  the  world. 

Cousin  Guy  and  his  friends,  though  more 
Dane  than  Norman,  for  once  forgot  their 
caution.  They  talked  —  and  before  a  fool. 
As  the  fool  was  a  fool  only  professionally,  his 
cleverness  was  his  own  to  use  whenever  he 
found  himself  to  be  in  need  of  his  wits.  Now 
history  has  written,  not  once,  but  again  and 
aeain,  this  eulo2:v  on  Court  Fools,  —  truth  and 
courage  had  they,  and  also  a  most  singular 
honor. 


1/2  FA  LA IS E 

The  fool  at  Valognes,  one  Galet  by  name, 
did  not  disgrace  his  corps.  He  played  at  his 
trade  till  night-fall.  Then  he  crept  to  William 
under  cover  of  the  dark,  and  told  what,  as  fool, 
he  had  heard.  William,  the  bravest  man  of 
his  day  in  all  France,  knew  when  to  fly ;  from 
the  assassin's  dagger  there  was  but  one  road  — 
and  that  one  he  took. 

All  through  the  night  he  rode  for  his  life, 
as  well  as  for  his  Duchy's  safety.  Across  the 
lovely  country  where  fattest  cows  now  munch 
the  livelong  day;  where  "  manoirs,"  chateaux 
and  huge  barns  break  the  monotony  of  wheat 
and  rye-fields,  William  rode  across  the  then 
lonely  plains  and  through  forests  dim  with 
heavy  shade.  At  last,  along  witli  the  dawn, 
the  turrets  of  a  friendly  chateau  came  in  sight. 
The  castle  belonged  to  the  Count  de  Ry. 

We  are  not  told  that  the  Lord  of  Ry  evinced 
the  slightest  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  his 
own  Lord  and  Duke,  dropping,  half-dead,  from 
his  foam- white  steed,  (all  steeds  figuring  in  such 
historic  adventures  are  white,)  at  the  somewhat 
unconventional  hour  of  daybreak.  Such  sur- 
prises  appear   to  have   been   as   much   in   the 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE    OF  FA  LA  IS E       173 

order  of  an  eleventh-century  clay  as  a  dropping- 
in  at  tea  has  become  in  our  own  time. 

What  the  chroniclers  have  preserved  for  us 
is  the  picturesque  tableau  the  Lord  of  Ry  and 
his  sons  immediately  arranged,  so  to  speak,  as 
a  fine  historic  group. 

The  "  Baron  of  Ry,"  duly  records  the  chroni- 
cle, "gave  to  William  a  fresh  mount,  and  called 
three  squires,  his  sons,  about  him,  and  said  to 
them;  'Here  (Veci)- you  see  your  true  Lord, 
mount  your  steeds,  and  according  as  you  owe 
me  allegiance,  I  command  you  to  conduct  him 
as  far  as  Falloise.' "  Then  he  (the  Baron) 
told  them  the  road  they  were  to  take.  After 
which  "  William  and  his  three  sons  took  leave 
of  him."  They  then  all  four  went  on  their  way 
passing  the  river  until  they  came  to  "Falloise  " 
where  they  were  well  received  and  with  "  grant 
joie." 

Once  in  "  Falloise,"  the  old  way  of  spelling 
the  town,  there  was  indeed  "grant  joie"  among 
his  "dear  Falaisians  " — "ses  chers  Falaisons." 

William,  however,  had  little  time  for  senti- 
ment. If  at  the  age  of  twelve,  it  had  been 
worth   a  oovernor's  reiijn  over   Falaise   to   at- 


1 74  FALAISE 

tempt  to  wrench  an  inch  of  WiUiam's  property 
away  from  him,  the  treachery  of  the  Western 
Barons  and  his  Cousin  Guy's  black-hearted 
scheme  for  doing  away  with  him,  when  a  full- 
grown  man,  had  set  the  fiery  nature  of  the 
young  Duke  aflame. 

Once  more  the  Chateau  of  Falaise  was 
crowded  with  troops.  Its  dungeons  and  store- 
houses groaned  under  their  burden  of  provis- 
ions. On  hearing  that  the  Western  rebellion 
was  spreading,  knowing  that  neither  Falaise 
though  garrisoned  in  every  loophole,  nor  could 
Rouen  resist  the  now  formidable  army  already 
marching  past  St.  L6,  past  Bayeux  —  almost 
at  the  very  gates  of  Caen,  —  what,  think  you, 
did  William  do  ?  Where,  in  this  the  darkest 
hour  of  his  young  and  lonely  state  of  extremity 
did  he  look  for  help.^ 

There,  where  no  one  save  a  master-mind 
among  statesmen  would  have  dreamed  of 
knocking;  at  a  door  behind  which,  again  and 
again,  he  had  found  deceit  luring  him  to  per- 
dition, and  treachery  with  its  knife  open,  it  was 
at  such  a  hostile  door  that  brave  and  far-sighted 
William  went  to  do  his  knocking. 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FA  LA  IS  175 

Almost  as  swift  a  ride  as  that  which  took 
him  from  the  daggers  of  Valognes  to  Falaise 
was  the  one  WilHam  took  to  Poissy,  to  his 
Kine.  For  it  was  from  him,  and  none  other, 
the  subtle  brain  of  the  greatest  statesman  of 
his  age,  then  barely  grown  to  a  man's  maturity, 
had  told  William  his  help  was  to  come. 

The  very  simplicity  of  William's  reasoning 
proves  his  penetration.  Already  councils, 
courts,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  men  and  forces 
of  his  time  had  taught  William  the  pregnant 
fact,  that  Kincrs  and  children  have  this  trait  in 
common;  that  which  they  want  for  themselves 
is  ever  a  just  and  true  claim ;  the  same  coveted 
by  others,  becomes  a  crime. 

Normandy,  ravaged,  conquered  and  won  by 
Henry  for  France,  was  one  thing ;  the  same 
Duchy  set  upon  by  rebellious  Barons,  became 
an  act  unspeakable  in  disloyalty. 

Therefore,  it  was  that  "  William  went  into 
France."  Therefore  also,  it  was,  that  back 
with  him  from  Poissy  rode  Henry  at  the  head 
of  his  French  Army. 

Now  the  very  prettiest  bit  of  fighting  done 
anywhere  in  France  was  to  be  seen  on  the  day 


1 76  FALAISE 

the  true  Normans,  with  William  at  their  head, 
and  his  King  Henry,  with  his  gallant  French- 
men, met  Guy  of  Burgundy,  the  Viscount  of  St. 
Sauveur,  and  hundreds  of  other  great  Lords  and 
their  troops  on  the  plains  about  Val-es-Dunes. 

It  was  a  battle  after  the  good  old  order  of 
kniglitly  combats.  Knight  errantry  was  then 
in  its  dawn.  The  system  of  Knight  service 
introduced  later  into  England  by  William,  was 
in  the  first  full  flush  of  its  trial  days. 

The  youthful  warriors  who  followed  William 
and  Henry  out  to  the  plains  of  Val-es-Dunes 
sat  their  huge  stallions  with  a  lordlier  seat,  and 
the  Knights  of  the  rebel's  army  bit  the  dust 
with  a  sense  of  deeper  shame  because  of  the 
new  ritual  which,  once  the  vassal  baptized  as 
"  chevalier,"  decreed  the  weight  of  a  personal 
responsibility.  The  modern  idea  of  individu- 
alism began  its  long  battle  in  this  and  other 
encounters  where  Norman  met  Norman,  —  not 
knowing,  as  they  wielded  the  lance,  or  the 
"  virile  arm  "  of  the  sword,  they  Vv-ere  fighting 
for  other  and  far  greater  forces  than  merely  to 
capture  certain  fortress-towns  or  stretches  of 
Norman  land. 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       \jj 

Actors  are  rarely  philosophers.  William 
rushing  in  at  the  very  thick  of  the  action,  as 
soon  as  his  enemy  was  met,  four  leagues  from 
Caen,  fought  with  that  tempestuous  fury  of  ardor 
which  ever  characterized  his  action  in  battle. 
His  physical  power  and  strength  of  arm  would 
have  told  in  any  contest.  But  when  in  the 
field,  he  was  one  of  those  fighters  who  loved 
fighting  for  its  own  sake.  Wherever  the  con- 
test raged  hottest,  there  William  was  to  be 
found  mightiest  among  the  mighty,  dealing 
blows,  whether  of  lance  or  of  mace,  that  won  for 
him  his  Dukedom,  as  here  at  Val-es-Dunes,  or 
when,  through  the  shield-wall  at  Senlac,  he 
fought  his  way  to  the  crown  at  Westminster. 

Valiant  as  were  the  deeds  performed  in  this 
brilliant  tourney  of  horsemen  at  Val-es-Dunes, 
William's  youthful,  supple,  Samson-like  strength 
with  his  lance  outdid  them  all.  Horses  and 
Knights  went  down  before  him  as  ripe  corn 
before  the  scythe.  The  Viking  in  his  blood 
was  in  its  true  element.  The  old  Scandina- 
vian thirst  for  red  human  blood  was  not 
sated  until  the  chivalry  of  Normandy  opposed 
to    him    went    down    in    death    or    was    made 


178  FALAISE 

prisoner,  before  William's  Norman  cry  of  "  Dex 
Aie ! " 

Great  as  were  the  services  rendered  by 
Henry  and  his  army,  on  that  memorable  day, 
it  was  the  youthful  William's  pure  strength  in 
feats  of  arms,  his  courage,  and  his  masterly 
ways  in  battle  that  won  him  his  true  right  to 
govern  his  Duchy. 

F"or  after  Val-es-Dunes,  the  Normandy  west 
as  well  as  east  of  the  Dives,  was  Norman  and 
William's.  Rebellion  within  his  own  domain 
had  been  stricken  unto  death  in  the  plains  of 
Caen.  He  who  first  conquered  his  own  Duchy, 
later  on  led  his  soldiers  to  conquest  beyond  his 
own  domain.  The  Conqueror  of  England,  as 
the  historians  are  at  pains  to  tell  you,  first 
rehearsed  his  great  part  on  the  plains  of 
Caen  and  in  storming  the  border  fortresses 
of  Alenyon  and   Brionne. 

Falaise,  that  had  already  done  so  much  for 
its  hero-Duke,  was  to  continue  to  help  him  still. 
It  was  in  his  favorite  fortress  he  made  his  prep- 
arations for  that  famous  siese  which  was  to  be 


'»" 


stained  with   one  of  the  crimes  of  his   reisfn. 


&' 


Great  as  he  was,  he  was  as  sensitive  as  a  woman 


WILLIAM'S   CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       179 

to  ridicule.  "  La  pel !  La  pel !  "  was  the  cry 
shouted  out  by  the  foolish  citizens  of  Alen9on, 
as  they  hung  upon  their  walls  the  tanner's 
hides  meant  to  mock  the  mean  birth  of  the 
greatest  man  in  Europe.  William  swore  "  Par 
la  splendeur  de  Dieu," — his  favorite  oath  when 
the  darker  Scandinavian  side  of  his  nature  was 
roused  —  that  the  burghers  of  Alen9on  should 
"be  dealt  with  like  a  tree  whose  branches  are 
cut  off  with  the  pollarding  knife."  He  kept 
his  word.  Thirty-two  Alengon  citizens  saw 
their  feet  and  hands  thrown  across  the  walls 
that  had  been  curtained  with  the  hateful 
hides. 

After  extending  his  Norman  domains, 
William  still  had  once  again  to  fight  his 
King,  to  prove  to  him,  at  the  battle  of  Vara- 
ville,  for  a  last  final  time  that  he,  W^illiam,  and 
not  Henry,  was  to  rule  Normandy. 

Falaise  served  the  Duke  as  a  base  for  his 
preparations  for  this  decisive  battle. 

After  Normandy  was  rid  of  home  rebels  and 
foreisfn  French  invaders,  both  the  Duke  and 
his  fortress  had  intervals  of  rest.  Such  periods 
of   unwonted    leisure    in   both    their   histories, 


1  So  FALAISE 

were  utilized  by  William  to  increase  the  com- 
mercial prosperity  of  the  town  —  as  the  History 
of  the  Great  Fair  proves  further  on ;  to  intro- 
duce the  beginnings  of  agricultural  security 
and  civic  order  in  the  enforcing  of  the  "  Truce 
of  God,"  and  the  establishment  of  the  Curfew ; 
and  in  enlarging  and  improving  the  walls  and 
towers  of  a  town  that  had  proved  to  him  its 
worth  and  loyalty,  not  once,  but  a  dozen  times. 

When  the  Qrreatest  of  all  his  adventures  be- 
fell  him,  when  into  his  scheming,  daring 
statesman's  and  general's  head  there  burst, 
full-orbed,  the  project  for  a  conquering  of  Eng- 
land, first  and  foremost  to  his  clear-tongued 
trumpet  call  for  followers  —  for  an  army  — 
there  rose  about  the  ducal  leader  the 
"Nobility  of  Falaise." 

The  forests  about  his  birthplace  went  also 
to  the  building  of  the  ships  that  were  to  take 
his  "chers  Falaisians "  literally  to  their  king- 
dom beyond  the  sea.  The  Bayeux  tapestry 
will  show  you  what  havoc  the  woodmen's  axes 
did  in  all  the  woods  about  Falaise.  When 
with  their  big  stallions  —  those  mighty  sires  of 
the   Percherons  —  with    their  cider   and  water 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       l8l 

barrels  (the  same  are  to  be  seen  carried  along 
the  roads  of  Dives  to-day),  with  their  leathern 
armor,  pointed  shields,  helmets  and  lances  — 
not  forgetting  the  spits  of  meat ;  when  this 
great  store  of  provisions  and  military  equip- 
ment and  all  the  strange  motley  of  men  Wil- 
liam gathered  about  him,  went  into  the  ships 
lining  the  Dives  shores,  there  was  scarce  a  house 
in  Falaise  but  had  sent  its  noblest  male  repre- 
sentative to  give  color  to  this  invasion  being 
truly  called  a  Norman  Conquest. 

At  that  weird  and  brutal,  yet  most  pictur- 
esque of  banquets,  when,  after  the  battle  of 
Hastings,  William  and  his  "  nobles,"  sat  down 
at  midnight,  on  the  height  that  had  been  as  a 
solid  wall  of  steel,  and  where,  as  torches 
flamed,  they  lit  the  faces  of  the  dead  that  had 
made  that  living  wall,  —  behold  the  noble  Sires 
d'Aubigny,  de  Blainville,  de  Bray,  de  Cinteaulx, 
de  Courcy,  Roger  Marmion,  and  William's  own 
half-brothers,  Odo  and  Robert  —  all  dwellers  in 
or  near  about  Falaise  —  counting  the  heads 
that  were  still  alive.  As  they  passed  the  glass, 
and  the  shouts  of  triumph  rang  out,  acclaiming 
their  Duke  King  and  Conqueror,  we  can  pic- 


1 82  FALAISE 

ture  the  central  figure  the  torches  Ht.  Tall, 
already  stout  of  body,  fierce  of  eye  and  feature, 
and  with  blood-stained  tunic,  yet  even  in  this 
hour,  in  all  the  heady  triumph  of  his  "  Day  of 
Days  "  William  was  every  inch  a  King.  His 
dignity  placed  him  above  the  brutalities  of  the 
situation. 

Even  as  the  torches  played  upon  the  stern 
face  that  rose  up  beneath  the  quiet  stars,  as 
calm  amid  the  dead  as  among  his  half-frenzied 
Knights,  so  did  William  illumine,  with  the 
torch  of  his  genius,  his  brutal,  ignorant  age. 
The  clever,  yet  coarse,  Norman  features  of  his 
native  land  he  blent  into  some  symmetry  of  law 
and  order.  The  people  he  conquered,  dis- 
tracted, disorganized,  before  the  light  of  his 
mind  played  upon  their  trouble,  were  harmon- 
ized into  the  bes^innino-s  of  that  threat  nation 
that  stands  to-day  before  civilized  Europe,  for 
what  William's  whole  reign  taught  —  the  un- 
usual virtues  of  personal  and  national  loyalty, 
of  rectitude  and  a  strict  self-discipline. 

The  last  act  of  the  Conqueror's  tragic  death 
gives  us  a  final  touching  instance  of  Falaisian 
devotion. 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       i8 


O 


After  that  false  step  of  his  charger  among 
the  burnino-  streets  of  Mantes,  the  French 
town  that,  in  his  wrath  at  the  French  King, 
he  had  fired  —  a  stumbHng  that  gave  the  King 
his  death-blow  —  the  unrelenting  fate  that 
hovers  above  greatness  as  carrion  above  the 
dead,  at  last  had  its  chance  for  wreaking  its 
vengeance.  As  that  mighty  soul  passed  up- 
wards out  of  the  huge  body  that  lay  quiet 
enough,  then,  on  its  couch  in  the  Priory  of  St. 
Gervais,  at  the  ringing  of  the  matin  bells  of 
Rouen's  great  cathedral  —  on  that  morning  of 
Thursday,  a  ninth  of  September,  1087,  the 
grim  sisters  gathered  thick  and  close.  In  an 
hour  the  body  lay,  stripped  ;  the  death  chamber 
was  as  desolate  as  was  the  grave  making  ready 
at  Caen.  An  event  so  mighty  of  import  that 
the  news  travelled  from  Normandy  to  Sicily  in 
a  single  day,  was  yet  so  mockingly  slighted 
nearer  home  that  neither  son  nor  courtier  was 
found  to  give  the  corpse  of  the  greatest  man  of 
his  age  a  fitting  burial. 

Once  more  William's  "  dear  Falaisians " 
came  to  their  loved  "  Bastard's  "  rescue.  That 
gallant    Knight,    Herlevin,  Arlette's    husband, 


1 84  FALAISE 

reappears  upon  the  scene.  He  it  was  who 
arranged  the  details  of  his  mighty  stepson's 
strange  burial.  Down  the  Seine,  where  the 
ivory  horns  of  William's  Viking  ancestors,  a 
little  more  than  one  hundred  years  before,  had 
been  heard  echoing  along  that  "  Route  des 
Cygnes,"  the  stately  barge  containing  all  that 
was  mortal  of  that  greatest  of  Normans  who 
had  completed  the  "  Pirate's  "  work,  drifted  down 
to  Caen.  As  by  fire  he  had  come  to  his  death, 
so  through  flames  he  was  carried  to  his  abbey, 
the  streets  of  Caen  filling  suddenly  with  fire 
and  smoke,  as  the  monks,  in  their  slow  rhyth- 
mic march,  were  chanting  about  the  cofiBn  the 
ofifice  of  the  dead. 

He  who  was  first  among  Normans  to  claim 
his  rights  was,  at  the  very  last,  to  have  the 
law  of  justice  he  had  preached  turn  against 
him.  His  grave  was  disputed  by  a  dispos- 
sessed owner,  as  he  was  about  to  be  lowered 
into  it.  The  cry  of  "  Haro  !  "  that  cry  for  jus- 
tice Rollo  had  taught  every  Norman  to  respect, 
was  shouted  above  the  seven  feet  of  earth,  all 
too  small  for  the  Conqueror's  bulky  frame. 

After  the  clinking  of  the  purchase  money, 


WILLIAM'S  CAPTURE   OF  FALAISE       185 

the  mortal  part  of  William  lay,  for  a  few  brief 
centuries,  at  rest.  When,  with  the  Revolution 
came  the  rage  among  men  to  prove  their  con- 
tempt for  the  greatness  that  had  made  them, 
William's  grave  was  once  more  violated  and 
his  ashes  were  scattered  to  the  Norman  winds. 


CHAPTER   V 

HISTORY    OF    THE    GREAT    FAIR 
I 

IN  all  centuries  Kings  and  rulers  have  been 
under  the  influence  of  some  prevailing 
mental  fashion  or  mania.  In  the  strenuous 
fighting  days  of  the  earlier  centuries  a  man's 
character,  when  he  had  power,  could  be 
gauged  by  the  direction  in  which  the  influ- 
ences of  his  time  pulled  him.  Piety  was  one 
test;  the  establishment  of  law  and  order  was 
another.  Robert  the  Duke,  in  a  monient  of 
calm,  had  felt  himself  stirred  by  the  imagina- 
tive appeal  spiritual  impulse  took  in  his  day. 
His  son  William,  when  in  command  of  his 
rare  leisure,  had  the  truer  instinct  of  a  ruler's 
higher  duty ;  he  set  himself  the  less  pictur- 
esque, more  unselfish  task,  of  righting  the 
wrongs  and  meeting  the  needs  of  his  people 
at  home. 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  1S7 

In  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  there 
were  four  powerful  fashions  in  thought  and 
ambition.  Princes  then,  as  now,  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  indulging  their  predilections  in 
o-rander  form  and  circumstance  than  lesser 
men.  The  building  of  great  cathedrals  ;  the 
pious  founding  of  rich  men's  so-called  poor 
houses,  known  as  monasteries ;  the  establish- 
ment of  fairs ;  and  the  leading  of  a  com- 
pany of  Crusaders  to  the  Holy  Land  —  in  any 
one  or  in  all  of  these  four  directions.  Kings, 
Dukes,  and  Barons  might  expend  time  and 
treasure,  and  look  for  their  reward  in  the 
mouths  of  men  —  for  flattery  in  those  days 
was  as  much  the  fashion  as  criticism  has 
become  in  our  own  time. 

In  following  three  of  the  above-named 
fashions  of  his  day,  William  the  Great  proved 
both  his  policy  and  his  wisdom. 

William  was  carefully,  painstakingly  pious. 
He  understood  his  century.  He  meant  that 
the  strono-est  ororanization  of  his  time  should 
be  on  his  side.  He  set  an  example,  therefore, 
to  all  men,  of  strict  devotion  to  a  religion 
which  he  knew  how  to  use,  in  masterly  fashion, 


1 88  FALAISE  ^ 

as  a  cloak  and  weapon,  when  the  time  came. 
He  could  build,  in  meek  obedience  to  Papal 
command,  the  two  o^reat  abbevs  in  Caen  as  a 
"  penance  "  for  having  married,  in  Mathilda  of 
Flanders,  the  wife  of  his  choice ;  but  the 
Church  of  Rome,  in  its  turn,  must  send  a  con- 
secrated banner  and  a  ring  with  Saint  Peter's 
hair  in  sign  of  its  consecration  of  the  "holy 
war"  of  Normandy  against   England. 

In  the  building  mania  of  his  age  so  clever 
a  ruler  as  William  saw  nothing  but  good. 
Churches,  hospitals,  and  monasteries  were  in 
process  of  erection  throughout  his  Duchy, 
from  Cherbourg  to  Rouen.  Quarries  were 
worked  as  industriously  as,  later  on,  the 
forests  were  hewn  down  for  the  building  of 
the  ships  that  were  to  capture  England. 

In  so  stirring  and  active  a  period,  the  com- 
mercial and  financial  affairs  of  the  Duchy 
were  naturally  not  neglected.  Civic  and 
military  strength  being  a  guarantee  of  agricul- 
tural and  commercial  security,  Normandy  soon 
became  one  of  the  chief  European  centres  of 
trade.  Fairs  were  the  first  European  awaken- 
ing to  the  immense  advantages  to  be  gained 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  189 

by  trade  centralization.  What  the  great 
departmental  stores  are  in  our  own  day,  the 
fairs  of  feudal,  mediaeval,  and  renascent 
Europe  were  to  their  time  and  period. 

Of  all  these  earlier  fairs  the  Fair  of  Gui- 
bray  and  that  of  Beaucaire  held,  for  centuries, 
in  France,  the  foremost  place.  The  early 
pre-eminence  of  Guibray  was  directly  due  to 
Robert,  and  later  on,  to  the  keen  commercial 
instincts  of  William. 

In  an  earlier  chapter  Robert's  cleverness  in 
utilizing  the  miracle-drawing  power  of  the 
Church  of  Guibray  as  the  nucleus  of  a  Fair 
was  noted.  This  first  Fair  Robert  placed  in 
the  Camp-de-Foire,  close  to  his  fortress  walls. 
There,  for  some  years,  the  Fair  held  its  own 
against  all  neighboring  rivals,  increasing  in 
importance  with  each  year.  William  removed 
its  site  to  the  Falaisian  suburb  of  Guibray,  at 
the  same  time  extending  to  it  what  were 
deemed  extraordinary  privileges  for  those 
exacting  days.  Taxes  and  tithes  were  not  to 
be  levied  on  this  Fair,  exceptions  which  were 
continued  by  subsequent  rulers  and  Kings. 
As  a  result  of  such  privileges,  the  commercial 


igO  FALAISE 

prosperity  of  both  the  Fair  and  of  Falaise  be- 
came a  synonym  for  success.  Falaise,  indeed, 
owed  its  later  prosperity  to  its  Fair.  With  the 
advent  of  cannon  its  military  importance  was 
doomed.  But  the  town  lived  on,  drawing  half 
commercial  Europe  to  pass  through  its  great 
gateways.  With  the  advent  of  the  railroads, 
fairs,  on  a  large  scale,  have  become  as  rare 
as  the  costumes  that  brightened  them.  The 
commercial  traveller,  that  carrier-pigeon  who 
now  follows  all  the  trade  winds,  with  his  box 
of  samples,  has  settled  the  problem  of  trade 
distribution  for  our  era. 

Horses  alone,  even  in  our  time  of  easy 
transportation,  have  been  found  more  diflficult 
of  conveyance  than  samples  of  silk  and  linen. 
The  horse- Fair,  therefore,  at  Guibray,  as  my 
earlier  chapters  prove,  still  lives  on. 

From  the  eleventh  up  to  the  middle  of  our 
own  century,  with  the  resistant  power  which 
comes  with  continuity,  the  great  Fair  of  Gui- 
bray drew  Dutch  and  English  tradesmen; 
Spaniards  with  their  steel  and  cutlery;  Ger- 
mans from  across  the  Rhine  ;  and  Hungarians 
with  their  leather  goods.     These  and  their  fol- 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  IQI 

lowers  met  along  the  high-roads,  dark-skinned 
grocers  from  Marseilles;  silk  merchants  from 
Lille  and  Lyons;  hosiers  from  Orleans; 
clothiers  from  Rouen  and  Sedan ;  and  gold- 
smiths and  jewellers  from  Paris. 

France  might  be  at  peace  or  at  war;  the 
map  of  Europe  might  be  changing  its  outlines 
with  seeming  inconsequence  of  design  ;  Falaise 
itself  might  be  passing  from  Norman  Dukes 
to  hated  English  rule;  or  yet  be  opening  its 
gates  to  welcome  the  conquering  troops  of  its 
own  Charles  VIL  —  to  be  French  forever- 
more;  Protestant  and  Catholic  might  be 
shouting  their  creeds  through  the  mouth  of 
cannon  to  the  stout  bastions  of  William  the 
Conqueror's  great  stronghold^ and  still,  year 
after  year,  pigs  and  cattle  were  being  prodded 
to  the  great  market  where  the  yellow  August 
sun  was  to  light  indiscriminately,  jewels  from 
Paris  workshops,  tanned  hides,  silks  and  satins, 
•glass  and  porcelain,  and  the  velvet  coats  of 
smooth-skinned  thoroughbreds. 

During  three  years  only,  did  Falaise  see  its 
prosperity  threatened.  Henri  IIL  revoked  the 
edict  granting  its  privileges  to  the  Fair  at  Gui- 


192  FALAISE 

bray,  ordering  that  the  Fair  should  be  held  at 
Caen.  Falaise  saw  ruin  staring  from  every 
forsaken  inn  and  deserted  shop-window.  Still, 
half  ruined  as  it  was,  when,  as  a  fervent  Catho- 
lic it  found  itself  asked  to  receive  as  its  rightful 
King  the  gallant  Henri  IV.,  as  one  man,  town 
and  fortress  rose  to  protest.  Henri's  Catholi- 
cism was  too  recent  to  make  the  religious  stuff 
of  which  true  French  Kings  should  be  made, 
thought  Falaise.  Once  more  fortress  and 
town  found  themselves  at  their  familiar  posts. 
But  recently  converted  Henri  captured  the 
fortress.  To  punish  the  town  he  refused  to 
restore  to  it  its  vanished  Fair. 

A  citizen  of  Guibray,  one  Nicholas  le  Sas- 
sier, was  inspired  to  a  fine  action.  He  went 
out  to  the  King's  camp  at  Saint  Denis,  threw 
himself  in  approved  suppliant  fashion  at  Henri's 
feet,  and  began  an  impassioned  harangue. 
Being  doubly  a  Norman,  since  he  was  also  a 
lawyer,  he  arranged  his  effect  with  due  regard 
to  dramatic  climax.  After  depicting  the  con- 
sternation of  his  fellow  citizens  at  the  disaster 
that  threatened  all  Guibray  and  Falaise,  he 
proceeded  to  tempt  Henri.     He  made  him  the 


HISTORY  OF    THE    GREAT  FAIR  193 

finest  of  all  gifts;  he  presented  liini,  with  a 
large  liberality,  all  the  youth  of  the  town.  To 
prove  his  sincerity  he  proceeded  to  offer  up 
his  own  three  sons.  "  Great  Prince,"  he  cried 
—  still  on  his  knees  —  "you  have  already 
tested  their  courage "  (presumably  in  their 
character  of  rebels),  "in  you  they  have  had 
cause  to  admire  and  to  recognize  a  Prince  yet 
more  brave  than  they.  For  this  reason  they 
wish  to  attach  themselves  to  your  person  for 
life." 

Henri,  not  to  be  outdone  in  oratorical  elf^ect, 
in  his  turn  cried  out  "Go!  reassure  your 
town.  I  wished  but  to  test  her.  Now  that 
she  submits  herself,  I  give  her  back  her 
Fair  of  Guibray,  together  with  all  the  privi- 
leges and  exemptions  granted  by  my  kingly 
predecessors." 

Then  did  the  streets  of  Guibray  and  Falaise 
ring  with  cries  of  rejoicing.  "  Vive  Henri!'' 
"  Vive  Henri !''  was  shouted  till  throats  could 
shout  no  more.  Louder  still  the  belfries  of  St. 
Gervais  and  of  Notre  Dame  de  Guibray  rang 
out  their  glad  exultant  chimes. 


194  FALAISE 


II 


The  formal  opening  of  the  great  Fair  took 
place  on  the  evening  of  the  Assumption,  di- 
rectly after  the  picturesque  and  impressive 
religious  procession  had  passed  before  the 
timbered  fa9ades  of  the  streets  of  Falaise  and 
Guibra3^ 

For  days  before  the  opening,  trees  and 
bushes  along  the  high-roads  were  as  regularly 
blanched,  in  the  season  of  mid- August,  to  a 
whitened  pallor  by  clouds  of  dust  as,  each 
spring,  the  oaks  and  elms  along  the  road-side 
felt  the  rising  sap  stir  within  their  veins.  Like 
certain  modern  Parisian  faces,  their  pallor  was 
worn  as  proof  of  their  fashionable  maquillage. 
For  fashionable,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word, 
did  the  Fair  become  during  the  later  sixteenth, 
seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries. 

An  interesting  reprint  of  a  seventeenth-cen- 
tury engraving  —  the  actual  date  of  which  is 
1658  —  reproduces  for  us,  with  minute  detail, 
this  city  of  the  Fair  at  the  height  of  its  season 
of  two  hundred  and  more  years  ago. 

All  the  houses  that  are  old  now,  sunken  of 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  1 95 

beam,  and  faded  in  color  and  complexion, 
when  Guibray  sat  for  her  portrait  to  Chavvel, 
were  then  bright  and  gay  of  hue.  Their  glossy 
timbers,  zig-zag  ornamentations,  quaint  carv- 
ings, and  picturesque  gabled  roofs,  were  then 
neither  quaint  nor  picturesque,  but  merely  in 
the  best  fashion  of  their  day.  The  shops  of 
Falaise  and  Guibray  were,  also,  then  brave  of 
sign.  Elaborate  and  dainty  were  the  conceits 
that,  in  iron,  or  carved  or  painted  wood,  were 
conveyed  to  you  the  fact  that  keys  were  fash- 
ioned, or  boots  were  cobbled,  or  bread  was 
made  in  the  houses  thus  richly  tricked  out. 
Le  Vieux  Paris  of  the  Paris  Exhibition  of 
1900,  admirably  reproduced  the  gain  in  street 
effects  due  to  such  mediceval  artistic  signs. 
The  color  and  vivacity  contributed  to  street 
scenes  by  burghers  in  costume  was,  also, 
proved  anew  in  that  successful  attempt  to  re- 
produce a  lost  period.  And  every  fashion  in 
clotlies,  from  the  short  fighting  tunics  and  flow- 
ing, fashionable  cyclades  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury up  to  the  fripperies  of  the  Directoire 
period  have  passed  beneath  the  two  Falaisian 
gates  of  Le  Comte  and  Bocey. 


196  FALAISE 

When  Chavvel's  pencil  traced  the  fashions 
of  his  day,  it  was  to  reproduce  the  elaborate 
gowns,  wide  and  stiff-skirted,  in  which  Anne 
of  Austria  charmed  Buckingham  and  Mazarin. 
Her  enemies  and  rivals,  those  lovely  Duchesses 
who  had  fought  her  in  the  Fronde,  we?"ied, 
perhaps,  of  intrigues  and  conspiracies,  might 
have  been  caught  descending  from  their 
coaches  at  the  Fair  entrances.  Chatelaines 
for  miles  about  the  lovely  Calvados  region,  and 
from  far  beyond  its  confines,  came  up  as  regu- 
larly on  shopping  expeditions  to  the  Bon 
Marche  of  their  day,  as  ladies  from  San  Fran- 
cisco or  Chicago  step  across  the  water  to  line 
the  modern  Parisian  shop  counters.  There  is, 
indeed,  the  same  concentrated  energy  of  pur- 
pose and  intent  fixity  to  be  read  in  the  carriage 
and  walk  of  these  stately  seventeenth-century 
dames  who  crowd  the  Guibrayan  streets  as  we 
may  note  any  day,  from  April  to  October,  in 
the  carriage  of  our  fair  compatriots  who  con- 
tribute a  brighter  lustre  to  La  Rue  de  la  Paix 
than  does  its  array  of  sparkling  gems.  What- 
ever instability  caprice  may  suggest  to  a  v^^o- 
man's  emotional  machinery,  in  her  indefatigable 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  1 97 

pursuit  of  the  fashions  her  ways  are  as  fixed 
as  is  the  orbit  of  the  North  Star. 

The  gallants  of  those  days  wore  feathered 
hats,  mantles,  lace  jackets  and  high  boots. 
Their  rapiers  and  swords  seem  as  appropriate 
to  a  Normandy  Fair  in  hot  August  as  is  a 
eentleman's  evenino-  wear  to  a  dinner  in  mid- 
summer  in  our  own  period.  Peasants  and 
beggars ;  cavaliers  on  caracoling  steeds  that 
must  have  carried  as  great  a  dismay  to  the  foot 
passengers  in  these  narrow  streets  as  do  the 
modern  automobiles  to  affrighted  pedestrians 
in  our  own  thoroughfares;  stately  coaches; 
carts  of  every  size  and  description  ;  men  and 
women,  farmers  and  boys  riding  pillion  with 
baskets  between  ;  huntsmen  or  nobles  with  fal- 
con on  wrist  —  the  latter  betokening  the  rank 
of  the  rider;  farmers  leading  huge  stallions  in  a 
strinor,    riders    thrown,    others    mounting,  still 


c> 


others  in  the  act  of  dismounting  at  the  inn 
doors — before  us,  as  in  a  glass,  you  may  look 
upon  the  counterfeit  presentments  of  the 
people  who  went  up  that  older  Fair. 

Acrobats  made  things  lively  for  one  group 
of  passers-by ;  soothsayers  were  then  as  obvi- 


198  FALAISE 

ously  eagerly  listened  to  as  their  tribe  have 
ever  been,  whether  it  be  in  wise  Greece,  in 
sceptical  Rome,  or  in  our  own  highly  civilized 
state  of  cultivated  unbelief.  On  the  boards  of 
an  open  air  improvised  theatre,  an  actor  hatted 
and  cloaked,  declaimed  in  an  attitude  full  of 
erace,  either  verses  or  a  tale.  His  audience 
was  as  motionless  and  attentive  as  ever  the 
talented  Monsieur  Coquelin  has  faced  when 
giving  one  of  his  incomparable  monologues 
before  the  smart  world.  And  in  the  beuvcttcs 
(drinking  stalls)  just  beyond  the  theatre  group, 
a  sport  and  pastime  as  old  as  Adam  were 
indulged  in.  In  rustic  thatched  sheds,  where 
cider  barrels  much  wider  than  the  tables  were 
all  the  advertisement  needed,  apparently,  every 
Jack  appeared  to  have  his  Jill,  as  the  necessary 
complement  to  his  glass.  Just  as  in  the  Expo- 
sition of  this  year  of  our  Lord  1900,  where  strol- 
ling couples,  confident  in  the  distractions  offered 
to  sightseers,  within  the  magical  grounds  did 
their  courting  with  the  most  innocent  publicity, 
so  through  the  long  centuries  have  lusty  Nor- 
man peasants  felt  their  lovers'  arms  about  their 
waists,  and  the  crimson  of  their  cheeks  and  lips 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  1 99 

crushed  —  in  full  cUiylight,  without  thought  of 
shame. 

In  the  more  fashionable  inns  and  hostelries 
one  can  picture  the  archers  of  the  earlier 
centuries  and  the  mousqitcticrs  of  a  later  one, 
off  duty,  come  to  ask  farmers  and  merchants 
the  news  of  Europe:  whether  in  this  year  of 
1658,  Turenne  was  still  friends  with  Cromwell, 
and  how  Mazarin  was  now  gox-erning  France 
and  the  Queen.  For  fairs  were  to  feudal  and 
later  Europe  what  the  newspapers  and  cable- 
grams are  to  us. —  the  gossiping  distributors 
of  news.  Fashions,  also,  in  customs  and  in 
architecture,  political  opinions  and  convictions 
were  as  moulded  and  fashioned  by  such  large 
assemblages  of  men,  as  the\  are  now  by  the 
prevailing  travelling  mania  and  the  press. 

Of  the  swarm  of  the  orentrv  and  nobilitv  who, 
as  late  as  1S30,  continued  to  pack  the  narrow 
Guibravan  streets,  the  historian  Galeron  gives 
us  a  \i\id  picture.  "  So  crowded  and  so  great 
is  the  noise  that  the  first  days  of  the  Fair  are  in 
truth  insupportable.  In  the  midst  of  so  great 
a  concourse  of  people,  it  is  impossible  for  any- 
thing   like    order    to    reign  —  one    is    shoved, 


200  FA  LA  IS  E 

pushed,  knocked  about,  pitched  into  at  every 
turn  by  horses,  coaches,  carriages,  and  by  por- 
ters hurrying  in  all  directions  at  once."  The 
larger  streets  were  "  packed  with  lookers-on, 
with  saunterers,  with  eager  buyers,  all  day  and 
far  into  the  night.  Women  appear  in  gorgeous 
apparel,  and  the  gallants  in  their  train  are  no 
less  splendidly  turned  out."  Fashion  makes 
its  newest  and  latest  bow,  and  "  happy  indeed 
are  those  who  distinguish  themselves  by  the 
sood  taste  of  their  costume  and  the  Qrrace  and 
ease  of  their  bearing  and  manners." 

In  the  ante-revolutionary  days,  monasteries 
were  as  full  of  "  guests  "  as  were  the  neighbor- 
ing chateaux  with  costlier  company  ;  for  old 
customs  die  hard.  Those  two  most  formidable 
rivals  to  the  inn-keeper's  trade,  the  abbe  and 
the  seigneur,  were  difficult  to  kill ;  and  in  a 
town  as  hard  pressed  as  was  Falaise  for  that 
fortnight  of  its  Fair,  the  cool  chambers  of  the 
rich  abbeys  in  and  about  Falaise  must  have 
been  as  full  of  gallants  and  gay  ladies  as  their 
cells  and  cloisters  were  of  money-making 
monks. 

The  sandals  and  girdles  of  cowled  men  were 


HISTORY  OF   THE   GREAT  FAIR  20I 

no  unusual  adjuncts  to  the  crowds  frequenting 
the  Fair-town.  For  the  monk  of  the  middle 
a^es  was  as  grreat  a  tavern  and  Fair  liaunter  as 
any  other  idler.  When  the  glass  was  passed, 
or  the  dice  came  out,  no  better  judge  of 
luck,  or  keener  o-ambler  than  those  roisterino- 
monks  so  dear  to  the  nineteenth-century  fancy 
and  fiction.  Scholars  as  well  as  the  monks 
rubbed  shoulders  with  the  seigneurs,  the 
soldiers,  and  the  merchants,  who,  among  other 
attractions,  could  count  on  the  jillcs  dc  joie 
presenting  the  pathos  of  their  tragic  gayety. 

Lower  still  lay  that  darker  social  sediment 
all  crowds  bring  in  their  train.  Cut-purses, 
pedlars,  adventurers,  pardoners,  charlatans, 
quacks,  and  the  dealer  in  false  relics,  —  for  all 
such  the  bailiffs  of  Guibray  and  Falaise  were 
kept  on  duty  night  and  day.  The  jails  that 
were  empty  would  be  filled,  stocks  would  be 
found  too  few  in  number,  and  the  gallows 
yonder,  on  the  clear  hillside,  would,  after  the 
Fair  was  done,  have  gruesome  company. 

Such  have  been  the  groups  of  men  that  have 
passed  through  the  streets  of  Guibray.  The 
sounds  of  their  noisv,  crowded  moment  of  life 


202  FALAISE 

are  eone.  The  whirr  of  their  traffic  is  silenced. 
Thougli  the  town  they  filled  is  still  standing  — 
street  upon  street  still  opening  out  before  you 
—  all  is  as  silent  as  a  grave.  The  City  of  the 
Fair  is  now  a  City  of  the  Dead. 

As  now  one  wanders  through  these  mute 
and  melancholy  streets,  one  starts  at  a  sound. 
Where  once  the  wealth  of  Europe  lay,  retting 
timbers  gape  and  yawn.  Where  shone  the 
glint  of  steely  arms  and  armor,  dazzling  the 
eyes  of  our  late  sixteenth-century  warrior- 
dandies,  now  no  more  harmful  blades  than 
those  of  a  pale  and  weedy  grass  affright  and 
charm  the  gaze. 

The  once  bustling  inns  are  as  silent  now  as 
is  the  cemetery  yonder.  Here  and  there, 
where  the  film  of  phantom  insects  dances  in 
the  summer  haze,  a  creaking  sign  disperses 
the  revellers.  Le  Grand  Tnrc  still  swings  its 
bleared  and  faded  portrait  of  a  turban ed  gen- 
tleman of  color.  LAigk  d^Ors  wide  open 
doors  invite  you,  as  of  old,  to  enter ;  you  and 
the  orhosts  mav  have  the  silent  chambers,  the 
empty  halls,  and  rotting  stable-stalls  to  your- 
selves. 


HISTORY  OF   THE    GREAT  FAIR  203 

From  some  of  the  stouter-built  houses  there 
will  come  to  you  the  whirring  noise  of  machin- 
ery in  motion.  Through  the  narrow  windows, 
above  a  row  of  house  plants,  you  may  look 
upon  strangely  whirling  figures.  What  man- 
ner of  man  is  that  in  close  fitting  jersey,  w\an 
of  face,  whose  tireless  motion  is  as  ceaseless  as 
that  of  a  Dancing:  Dervish !  Is  it  indeed 
sonie  ghost  of  the  past,  rewarmed  to  life  by 
this  fine  summer  air?  Such  are  the  figures 
of  those  cotton  spinners  who,  seeking  cheap 
quarters,  have  sought  refuge  in  this  silent 
city.  They,  and  the  mangy  dogs,  scenters  of 
decay,  alone  people  the  deserted  streets. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    CHATEAU    DE    FALAISE 
I 

AN  interesting  proof  of  the  wealth  of 
France  in  mediceval  monuments  is  pre- 
sented witli  striking  effect  at  Falaise.  On 
these  bright  cHffs  are  two  survivals  of  feudal 
Normandy,  each  in  its  way  unique  among 
European  curiosities.  The  little  city  of  the 
Fair  must  stand  almost  alone  as  a  record  of 
bygone  ways  in  commercial  dealings.  On 
the  prow,  so  to  speak,  of  the  boat-shaped  rock 
on  which  both  Falaise  and  its  chateau  are 
built,  there  still  stands,  virtually  intact  its 
chief  glory,  the  magnificent  eleventh-century 
fortress. 

Both  the  city  of  the  Fair  and  the  chateau 
have  outlived  their  uses.  Yet  both  present  to 
our  investigating  nineteenth-century  eyes  whole 
periods  of  history  as  only  stone  and  mortar  can 


THE    CHATEAU  DE  FA  LA  IS E  205 

reproduce  them.  If  the  tottering  houses  of 
Guibrav  look  the  very  picture  of  neglect  and 
decay,  the  chateau  preserves,  witli  pecuhar  dis- 
tinction, its  look  of  power. 


The   Walls  and  Bastions  of  tlic  Fortress. 

The  Chateau  of  Falaise  offers  to  the  eye 
none  of  those  delicacies  of  outline  and  refine- 
ment in  traceries  which  later  strongholds  — 
built  in  the  period  of  transition  from  the  archi- 
tecture of  defence  to  that  of  pure  elegance  — 
will  reveal.  Falaise  is  staunchly,  uncompro- 
misingly  feudal.     It   embodies   the   bold    defi- 


206  FA  LAIS E 

ance,  the  self-confidence,  the  readiness  of 
resource  of  its  Norman  builders.  The  in- 
trinsic character  of  the  chateau  remains  intact. 
Its  fine  feudal  air  is  inherent,  in  no  way  depend- 
ent on  accessory  or  accident  of  ornament. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  feudal  Europe, 
such  a  situation  as  that  of  the  Donjon  or 
Chateau  of  Falaise  was  absolutely  ideal. 
Its  front  of  cliff,  breasting  the  plain  l3elo\v, 
with  the  further  natural  fortification  of  its 
neiehbor  cliffs,  was  a  fortress  site  in  a  thou- 
sand.  The  town  within  the  wall  girdle,  set 
about  with  trees,  full  of  fountains,  gardens, 
houses,  Norman  and  Gothic  sculptured 
churches  —  such  a  town,  so  tightly  clasped 
by  its  stout  stone  arms,  seemed  as  secure  as 
a  sanctuary. 

The  history  of  Falaise  is  the  history  of  the 
truth  and  fallacy  of  that  belief.  Its  chateau, 
or  fortress,  experienced  the  vicissitudes  com- 
mon to  all  structures  that  stand  for  an  idea. 
Such  buildings  last  as  long  as  they  continue 
to  typify  the  ideal  of  strength  current  among 
the  chief  military  minds  of  their  day.  Every 
form  of  fortification  is  but  the  last  experiment 


THE    CHATEAU  DE  FA  LA  IS  E  20/ 

devised  by  man  for  protection  against  attack. 
Europe,  from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  North- 
ern Seas,  has  been  the  vast  arena  on  wliich, 
one  after  another,  conflicting  militar)'  convic- 
tions liave  been  fought  out  to  a  finish.  For 
centuries  the  experiment  of  making  man  a 
power  behind  a  shield  —  whether  it  were  that  of 
the  fortress  wall  or  of  an  oblong  bit  of  steel  — 
studded  Europe  with  fortified  towns.  When 
in  battle  arrav,  men  and  horses,  encased  as 
they  were  in  armor,  were  each  in  themselves 
a  species  of  movable  fortification.  \\  hen  can- 
non came  in  the  true  combat  between  walled 
towns  and  men  in  iron  casings,  and  the  ball 
that  flies,  was  begun,  to  leave  man  pitiably  un- 
protected before  balls  that  travel  now  with 
almost  the  velocity  of  light. 

II 

That  the  rock  of  Falaise  was  a  fortified  camp 
long  before  the  Normans  saw  in  its  site  a  for- 
midable military  outpost  is  a  disputed  ]^oint. 
The  romantic,  less  exacting  writers  of  the  six- 
teenth   and     seventeenth     centuries    have    set 


208  FALAISE 

Falaise  ao-ainst  a  backorround  as  full  of  lep-end- 
ary  figures  as  it  is  tinted  in  mystical  hues. 
The  theory  that  the  grandchildren  of  Noah 
settled  this  region  alone  will  satisfy  those 
whose  love  of  antiquity  is  fashioned  upon  such 
pages  of  Deuteronomy  as  treat  solely  of  gene- 
alogy. To  others,  less  insistent  on  a  Biblical 
descent,  the  mystic  Isis  of  the  Druids  emerges 
as  the  divinity  whose  temple  was  here  fash- 
ioned by  nature  itself.  Boat-shaped,  the  great 
rock  was  the  temple  of  temples  for  the  god- 
dess whose  symbol  was  a  ship.  To  the  Dru- 
ids and  their  mysticism  succeeded  the  Gauls, 
and  to  them  the  Romans.  Lano^exin  will  tell 
you,  with  edifying  sense  of  security,  that  no 
less  a  personage  than  Julius  Ceesar  himself 
erected  the  first  fortress  of  Falaise,  to  serve  him 
as  a  base  for  the  further  subjugation  of  the 
westernmost  part  of  the  country  then  known  as 
Arvioriqiie.  The  very  word  donjon  this  his- 
torian complacently  accepts  in  evidence  of  the 
illustrious  birth  of  his  home-fortress,  translating 
quasi  do mus  y^ilii  into  "  Maison  de  Jules." 

In  such   company  one  feels  one's  self  to  be 
archasologically    agreeably    remote.       But    the 


THE   CHATEAU-  DE  FALAISE  209 

first  authentic  appearance  of  Falaise  across 
tiie  page  of  history  unfortunately  dispels  that 
pleasurable  feeling  in  finding  Falaise  as  old  as 
possible. 

It  is  in  the  year  946  that  we  find  the  first 
mention  of  Falaise  in  the  Norman  Chronicle. 
"  I  have  heard,"  said  Bernard  the  Dane,  to 
Louis  d'Outre  Mer,  "  that  you  wish  to  give 
,  to  Hue-le-Grand  all  the  country  beyond  the 
Seine  which  (country)  contains  the  flower  of  all 
the  fortresses,  good  towns  and  chivalry.  In 
this  country  are  grown  the  provisions  for 
Rouen  and  its  neighbor  towns ;  in  this  coun- 
try are  Avrances,  Coutances,  Bayeux,  etc.  etc., 
Caen  and  Falaise,  and  many  other  good  towns 
and  chateaux." 

I,  for  one,  am  entirely  content  to  accept 
Bernard  the  Dane's  word  that  Falaise,  in  the 
now  sufficiently  remote  tenth  centur)',  was 
already  a  flourishing  town.  From  the  above 
quoted  conversation  until  the  year  of  1027-28, 
Falaise  is  rarely  mentioned.  Already  in  the 
time  of  Rollo's  sons  she  was  the  chief  town  in 
the  "  compte  "  of  Hiesmois,  a  town  that  became 
formidable  with  the  walls  Richard  the  Fearless, 


'4 


2IO  FALAISE 

third  Norman  Duke,  built  about  the  town 
itself.  He  greatly  enlarged  and  strengthened 
the  donjon,  or  chateau,  as  such  strongholds 
were  called  in  that  day. 

These  feudal  chateaux  were  in  no  sense  the 
elaborate  structures  that  arose  in  later  times. 
In  the  days  of  the  earlier  Dukes,  such  castles 
were  often  mere  defences  of  wood  surrounded  by 
a  ditch.  But  the  possession  of  even  the  ruder 
forts  or  chateaux  made  every  Baron  owning 
one  formidable.  He  could  defy  his  over-Lord, 
or  sally  forth  to  carry  death  or  destruction  to 
neighbor,  Lord,  or  innocent  serfs,  and  generally 
overawe  and  terrify. 

In  studying  the  structure  of  so  redoubtable 
a  stronghold  as  was  the  Chateau  of  Falaise 
we  are  at  once  struck  with  its  amazing  sim- 
plicity of  design.  It  belongs  to  the  earlier 
ruder  periods  of  Norman  workmanship,  —  to 
the  period  which,  a  little  later,  covered  Eng- 
land with  Norman  castles  or  keep-towers.  In 
all  such  buildings  there  was  a  general  uniform- 
ity of  plan.  The  Tower  of  London  and  the 
Norman  keep  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne  are  two 
admirable  surviving  examples  of  such   Towers 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  211 

in  England.  The  Chateau  of  Falaise  differed 
somewhat  from  these  later  donjons.  Owing 
to  the  natural  advantages  of  its  site,  to  its 
ereat  height  above  the  vale,  and  to  the  further 
defences  offered  by  the  heights  of  Noron  and 
of  Mont  Mirat,  whose  near  cliffs  closed  about 
the  Falaisian  spur  of  rock  like  bristling  senti- 
nels, the  fortress  could  remain  exceedingly- 
simple  in  its  construction.  Its  square  mass  of 
stone  work  measured  about  sixty  feet  to  the 
square,  its  elevation  varying  from  fifteen  to 
sixtv  feet.  The  northern  and  southern  fa9ades 
were  buttressed  in  all  their  length  by  rude 
but  enormously  strong  buttresses.  The  chief 
strength  of  the  building  lay  in  its  walls,  still 
to  be  measured  at  nine  feet  nine  or  ten  inches. 
In  certain  parts  of  the  donjon  these  walls  are 
in  fact  double  walls  with  the  intervals  filled 
with  rubl^le,  and  with  passages  in  them. 
There  is  a  fine  wide  stairway  in  the  south- 
western wall  wide  enough  for  two  nien-at-arms 
to  walk  abreast.  The  massiveness  of  the  en- 
closing outer  walls  gives,  perhaps,  as  does  no 
other  part  of  the  structure,  the  impression  of 
the    strength  that  may   come    with    the    mere 


212  FALAISE 

building  of  stone  on  stone.  The  Normans, 
in  utilizing  their  walls  for  inner  passages  and 
stairways,  unquestionably  copied  in  this  their 
cleverer  predecessors,  the  Romans.  In  the 
third  and  fourth  centuries  the  fortifications 
of  Rome  had  such  passages  in  them,  the 
inner  wall  being  made  of  very  fine  brick 
work. 

There  are  no  refinements  of  taste  or  skill  in 
mason's  work  discoverable  in  the  original  keep 
of  Falaise.  Everything  about  the  structure 
proclaims  it  as  the  work  of  the  Norman  in  his 
rude  elementary  stage  as  builder.  Its  origin 
belonged  to  that  crude  period  when  the  North- 
men, feeling  still  insecure  in  this  not  wholly 
subdued  land  of  "  Neustria,"  made  self-protec- 
tion the  first  of  all  laws.  Rebuilt  and  restored 
as  has  been  the  fortress  in  certain  portions,  its 
walls  and  the  masonry  of  its  inner  walls  show, 
by  the  most  telling  of  all  proofs,  that  a  large 
part  of  the  famous  structure  still  remains  as 
the  Normans  built  it.  The  rubble,  the  wide- 
jointed  masonry,  the  roughness  of  the  stone 
work,  are  all  early  Norman  work. 

Such    ornament    as    the   original    keep    still 


THE    CHA  TEA  U  DE  FA  LA  IS  E  2  I  3 

shows  proclaims  the  work  of  the  axe  rather 
than  of  the  chisel.  The  two  round-headed  win- 
dows facing  the  north,  overlooking  the  Val- 
dante ;  the  round-arched  doorways  with  shafts 
with  their  plain  or  cushion  capitals;  the 
roughly  sculptured  heads  in  the  angles,  close 
to  the  rudely  modelled  window  moulding  ;  —  all 
this  is  Norman  work  in  its  primitive  stage  of 
development. 

In  the  small  upper  room,  famous  as  the 
meeting-place  of  Robert  and  Arlette,  and  the 
birth-chamber  of  their  illustrious  child,  —  a  fact 
still  stoutly  contested  by  most  of  the  English 
historians,  —  in  this  room  the  vaulting  is  the 
groined  vault  without  ribs,  the  very  sign  and 
seal  of  earliest  eleventh-centurv  work. 

One  looks  in  vain  for  traces  of  that  Byzan- 
tine influence  in  richness  of  ornamentation 
which  gave  to  the  Norman  architecture  of  sixty 
or  seventy  years  later  such  splendor,  semi- 
barbaric  as  was  the  character  of  that  splendor. 
The  original  keep  as  a  whole,  one  must  con- 
clude, was  the  work  of  a  single  period,  and  that 
period  the  time  of  William  and  his  immediate 
successors. 


2  14  FALAISE 

In  its  outer  defences,  Falaise  neither  pre- 
sented, nor  indeed  did  she  need  to  present,  any 
of  those  more  elaborate  devices  we  find  in  later 
donjons.  Such  records  as  we  have  of  the 
structural  character  of  the  gates  and  the  walls 
show  none  of  the  ingenious  "  curtain  walls," 
double  and  triple  moats  which  Coucy  (1228)  or 
Pierrefords  (1390)  present.  The  whole  system 
of  defence  at  Falaise  was  based  on  the  principle 
of  the  impregnable  character  of  its  rocky  cliff 
front.  Its  walls  with  their  watch  towers,  bas- 
tions, and  outer  and  inner  gateways  offer 
evidence  of  no  more  intricate  devices  than  the 
almost  elementary  ones  of  forcing  the  enemy  to 
present  its  flank  to  the  warriors  on  the  battle- 
mented  heights. 

With  its  forty  towers,  its  six  city  gates,  the 
tower-studded  walls  of  the  town,  moats,  ponds, 
drawbridges  and  portcullises,  Falaise  might 
well  count  on  withstanding  all  assaults  save 
one  —  that  of  grim-visaged  famine. 

The  interior  of  the  donjon  is  still  divided  on 
the  first  floor  into  large  and  small  halls,  the 
guard  rooms  ;  its  upper  story  into  small  cham- 
bers, where  the  Dukes,  under  Norman  rule,  and 


THE   CHATEAU  DE  FALAISE  215 

English  governors  and  captains  during  the 
EngHsh  occupation,  retired  to  rest  after  tlie 
long  hunts,  or  to  sleep  during  prolonged  sieges  ; 
in  the  southern  fa9ade  was  the  chapel,  small 
and  vaulted,  in  the  old  days  only  to  be  entered 
from  without ;  and  below  all,  the  dungeons  in 
the  living  rock.  The  dwelling-house,  the  true 
chateau  of  our  more  modern  days,  now  the 
college,  was  within  the  walled  enclosure. 

Secret  and  subterranean  passage-ways  led 
from  the  fortress  to  the  town,  and  from  the 
town  into  the  outer  country.  All  of  which 
precautions  suggest  to  us  our  own  more  envi- 
able state  of  security.  Perhaps  it  is  rather  the 
policeman's  club  than  either  free  education  or 
republican  institutions  which  is  the  corner 
stone  of  a  true  state  of  civilized  society.  Even 
in  times  of  peace,  in  such  an  over-protected 
town  as  Falaise,  one  must  have  had  disagreeable 
reminders,  at  every  turning,  of  what  it  all 
meant.  In  those  days  war  came  home,  person- 
ally, to  every  hearth  and  household.  Pillage, 
rapine,  fire  —  these  were  the  demons  that  over- 
leapt  the  walls  when  walls  crumbled. 


21 6  FALAISE 


III 


When  the  EngHsh  King,  Henry  V.,  made 
the  first  true  capture  of  Falaise,  taking  the 
fortress  that  had  already  weathered  seven 
sieges,  by  the  force  of  cannon,  he  made  his 
great  Captain,  Jean  Talbot,  Governor  of  the 
fortress.  With  the  revival  of  English  rule, 
ofreat  chancres  and  many  additions  were  made 
to  the  keep.  The  revolution  in  military  tac- 
tics and  methods  of  warfare  brought  about  by 
the  introduction  of  cannon  demanded  that  all 
fortresses  built  on  the  plan  of  the  older  Keeps 
must  be  changed,  or  strengthened,  to  meet  the 
new  danglers  from  the  cannon  mouth. 

The  building  of  Talbot  Tower  was  the  im- 
mediate outcome  of  the  new  military  necessity. 
Its  shape  was  fashioned  somewhat  after  the 
Norman  Round  Church  Towers  so  common  in 
Norfolk  and  Suffolk.  But  all  resemblance 
ceased  with  this  similarity  of  form. 

Talbot  Tower,  although  built  in  an  incredi- 
bly short  period  of  time,  is  one  of  the  master- 
pieces of  military  architecture.     The  delicacy 


THE   CHATEAU  DE  FALAISE 


217 


V«^j 


^^1^^^^ 


of  its  design,  its  grace  and  symmetry,  both  of 
proportion  and  elevation,  proclaim  it,  at  a 
glance,  as  a  structure  possessing  the  elements 
and  finish  of  a  perfect  work  of  art.  The  eye 
rests  upon  it  in 
satisfied  delight. 
Its  springing 
lightness  makes 
its  strength  seem 
accident  rather 
than  design. 
And  from  what- 
ever point  of 
view  one  tests 
its  beauty  — 
w  h  e  t  li  e  r  fro  m 
the  vale  below 
one  watches  it 
soar  heaven- 
wards, with  imitative  aerial  lightness;  or  whether 
one  fronts  it  from  the  Noron  heights,  where  its 
columnar  svmmetry  outrivals  the  sunlit  tree- 
trunks  ;  or  if,  nearer  still,  the  eye,  in  pure  fas- 
cination of  watching  the  line  of  perfect  grace 
o-row   from   the  flanoino-   base   to   the  meltinor 


The  Fortress  and  Talbot  Tower. 


2i8  FALAISE 

roof  and  cornice  lines  —  from  whatever  point 
or  distance  one  looks  upon  Talbot  Tower,  one 
finds  it  flawless. 

The  masons'  work  alone  is  a  marvel  of  stone 
laying,  the  entire  surface  of  the  Tower  having 
the  finish  of  the  later  Renaissance  work.  Its 
height  of  one  hundred  and  eleven  feet  is 
divided  into  four  stories,  five,  including  the 
dungeons  in  the  rockwall.  In  the  middle  ot 
the  Tower  is  an  opening  running  from  base  to 
summit.  This  opening  was  for  the  working  of 
the  deep  well,  which  made  the  Tower  quite  in- 
dependent of  the  chateau,  in  case  the  garrison 
should  be  forced  to  sustain  a  last  attack  in 
these  narrower  quarters.  As  in  the  older 
keep,  the  stairways  are  inter-mural,  being  cir- 
cular in  this  smaller  building.  The  subdivis- 
ions of  the  various  floors  conform  to  the 
necessities  of  the  housing  of  many  men  in 
so  comparatively  confined  a  space.  Small 
chambers,  with  stone  seats  in  the  deeply  re- 
cessed windows  ;  a  subterranean  dungeon,  and 
a  single  upper  room  boasting  of  a  wide  fire- 
place: such  was  the  interior  of  the  structure. 
For  further  protection    against    surprise    in 


THE   CHATEAU  DE  FA  LA  IS  E  219 

case  the  chateau  were  taken,  an  enormously 
thick  wall  separated  the  Tower  from  the  older 
stronghold.  In  this  wall,  in  times  of  peace,  a 
passage  way  led  from  keep  to  Tower.  But  in 
times  of  siege  all  communication  was  cut  off. 
The  commander  and  his  garrison,  with  their 
stores  of  provision  and  ammunition  in  the  deep 
dungeons  beneath,  with  their  well  of  pure 
water  and  behind  their  armor  of  walls  ten  feet 
thick,  could  count  upon  holding  out  for  months 
against  the  still  crude  artillery  of  the  fifteenth 
century. 

The  chateau  itself,  at  the  period  of  the  build- 
ing of  the  great  tower,  was  entirely  restored. 
The  chapel  of  the  chateau,  almost  a  ruin,  was 
also  rebuilt.  Not  content  with  all  this  build- 
ing and  rebuilding,  Talbot  proceeded  to  beau- 
tify and  adorn  his  own  particular  chambers. 
Les  Sallcs  Talbot  were  still  rich  in  faded  fres- 
cos and  late  Gothic  ornamentations  only  a 
short  fifty  years  ago.  The  Gothic-arched 
windows  with  their  chiselled  trefoil  openings 
contribute  the  sole  notes  of  elegance  to  the 
chateau  structure.  The  older  historians  are 
lavish  of  descriptions  concerning  this  Talbot 


2  20  FALAISE 

Hall.  The  English  governor,  obviously,  had 
brought  to  Falaise,  along  with  his  English 
garrison  and  mounted  men-at-arms,  —  the 
record  of  whose  pay  in  golden  francs  — francs 
dor  —  you  still  may  read  in  M.  de  Malherbes' 
manuscript  records  —  along  with  his  English 
horse  and  English  rule,  Talbot  had  carried  to 
the  fortress  on  the  hill  his  English  love  of  com- 
fort. The  wide  open  fire-place  in  this  his 
French  hall  must  have  recalled  to  him  those 
generous  hearths  where  the  leaping  flames 
warmed  EnQ;lish  hearts.  As  the  fire's  qtIow 
lit  the  painted  walls  of  his  great  room,  fusing 
the  splendor  of  the  rich  interior  into  harmony, 
Talbot's  days  and  months  of  exile  from  Eng- 
lish courts  and  the  ease  of  castle  life  must 
have  been,  at  least,  somewhat  mitigated. 


IV 


To  peruse  the  further  history  of  the  fortress, 
after  the  disappearance  of  the  most  striking 
and  masterful  of  all  the  great  personages  who 
strode  across  the  historic  Falaisian  stage,  from 
the    rise    of    the    curtain    after     William     the 


THE   CHATEAU  DE  FALAISE  22  1 

Conqueror's  death,  to  its  fall  with  Napoleon 
the  Great's  hasty  and  disdainful  sojourn  of  a 
few  hours  in  the  town,  is  to  pass  in  review  the 
long  possession  of  human  passions.  Filial  dis- 
loyalty succeeded  William's  brilliant  example 
of  right  conduct  in  domestic  relations.  On  his 
death  bed,  true  with  his  last  breath  to  his  sense 
of  justice,  William  avowed  "though  he  foresaw 
the  wretchedness  of  any  land  over  which 
Robert  should  be  ruler,"  yet  he  could  not  keep 
his  eldest  son  from  his  birthrio-ht — the  ducal 
crown  of  Normandy.  Robert,  therefore,  as 
rightful  heir  of  his  Norman  father  received  at 
Rouen  the  sword,  the  mantle  and  the  crown 
that  made  him  Duke  of  Normandy  and  Count 
of  Maine.  The  sword  he  used  to  such  purpose 
aQ;ainst  the  Saracens  in  the  first  o-reat  Crusade 
of  1095  that  he  was  offered  the  crown  of  Jeru- 
salem. Thirteen  years  after  his  coronation,  at 
the  battle  of  Tinchebraye,  his  mantle  was 
trailed  in  the  dust,  and  his  ducal  crown  ex- 
changed for  one  of  martyrdom. 

The  contradictions  in  Robert's  character 
brought  the  same  disasters  to  his  duchy  that 
complex  and  weak  natures  —  who  are    strong 


222  FALAISE 

only  in  melodramatic  situations  —  are  certain 
to  precipitate.  Robert  could  wantonly  bring 
about  and  foster  the  only  difference  William 
and  Mathilda  ever  experienced ;  yet  he  could 
gather  about  him,  a  few  years  after  his  accession 
to  the  Dukedom,  an  army  six  hundred  thousand 
strong,  heading  this  force,  which  included  all 
the  brave  Norman  nobles,  with  such  gallant 
bravery  that  Nicese,  Antioch,  and  finally  Jerusa- 
lem went  down  before  him. 

The  empty  honor  of  having  refused  to  be 
King  of  Jerusalem  could  hardly  have  been  of 
staying  comfort  to  Robert  when  he  returned  to 
his  "  beloved  Normandie,"  and  found  to  what  a 
pass,  by  his  own  acts,  he  had  brought  her.  He 
had  mortgaged  Normandy  to  his  brothers 
William  and  Henry.  From  that  mortgage 
dates  the  tragedy  of  disputed  possession  which 
made  this  donjon  on  a  hill  a  target,  for 
centuries,  for  English  bowmen  and  French 
archers. 

The  history  of  the  Chateau  of  Falaise  from 
the  year  i  loo  to  1450,  is  the  history  of  the 
quarrels  that  arose  as  to  who,  after  William  the 
Great's  second  son  had  immediately  seized  his 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  223 

mortgaged  territory,  should  thereafter  own  and 
hold  Falaise. 

The  quarrel  was  sufficiently  lively  during 
the  lifetime  of  William  the  Conqueror's  three 
turbulent  sons.  The  difference  in  family 
opinion  as  to  who  was  rightful  owner  of  the 
cliff  fortress  was  decided  at  Tinchebraye.  But 
Falaise,  loyal  to  its  rightful  Duke,  would 
receive  no  English  Kings  —  for  Henry,  Con- 
queror of  Robert,  was  English  born.  Loyalty 
is  usually  strongest  in  the  strong;  and  Falaise 
could  afford  the  luxury  of  fighting  or  sulking 
for  her  principles  behind  walls  of  such  thick- 
ness as  hers.  At  Robert's  commands  to 
receive  Henry,  however,  she  opened  her  gates. 

Once  the  Enorhsh  foot  on  Norman  soil,  and 
rivers  of  good  English  and  Norman  blood 
were  to  flow  before  Normandy  learned  the 
hard  lesson,  that  to  be  safe,  —  and  saved  —  she 
must  be  French. 

In  the  next  three  hundred  years  what  a 
multitude  of  historic  personages  crowd  the 
Falaisian  heights  !  As  successor  to  the  des- 
potic-featured Henry  I.,  his  greater  son  Henry 
n.  appears  as  Duke  of  Normandy,  and  King  of 


2  24  FALAISE 

England.  It  was  Henry  II.'s  wise  custom  to 
celebrate  the  Christmas,  Easter  and  Whitsun- 
tide festivities  in  Normandy.  Falaise,  the  town, 
the  chateau,  and  the  surrounding  country  W'Ore 
their  gayest  Christmas  dress  to  fete  the  dark- 
eyed,  long-visaged  Eleonora,  her  suite  of 
ladies,  and  her  royal  husband  when,  in  1159, 
the  English  Court  came  to  the  castle  to  make 
merry. 

The  clever,  subtle  face  of  Thomas  a  Becquet 
peers  at  us  through  the  donjon's  arched  win- 
dows. For  in  1162  he  was  signing  Henry's 
State  papers  in  his  quality  of  Chancellor- 
Thoma  Cancellario  is  the  signature  you  may 
still  read  on  certain  papers  dated  "  Falloise." 
At  the  time  of  the  sojourn  of  the  English 
Court  at  Falaise,  Henry  and  his  beloved  arch- 
bishop were  the  best  of  friends.  Doubtless 
one  might  have  seen  the  two,  any  fine  day, 
walking  about  the  ramparts,  talking,  in  most 
amical  fashion,  about  the  rights  of  bishops  and 
the  liberties  of  the  church,  —  the  very  questions 
that,  only  eight  years  later,  discussed  in  differ- 
ent mood  and  temper,  led  to  Henry's  historic 
exclamation,    "  I    find    myself    indeed    unfortu- 


THE    CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  225 

nate!  Surrounded  with  officers  and  subjects 
on  whom  I  have  lavished  favors  —  and  yet 
there  is  not  one  to  rid  me  of  this  persecuting 
priest !  " 

From  the  dark  tragedy  under  the  aisles  at 
Canterbury  that  was  the  consequence  of  that 
unlucky  outburst,  and  the  subsequent  troubles 
of  Henry's  domestic  life  and  reign,  it  is  a  re- 
lief to  turn  to  a  certain  other  festivity  held  by 
his  son  at  the  Chateau  of  Bure.  Six  hun- 
dred knights,  each  bearing  the  name  of 
William  —  Gitillattme  —  and  all  the  squires 
and  serving-men,  as  well  as  the  guests  at 
separate  tables,  all  also  answering  to  the  name, 
sat  down  to  make  merry  at  the  gay  Christmas 
time.  The  Court  of  Normandy,  at  that  time, 
was  certainh'  not  dependent  on  any  English 
contingent  for  its  brilliancy  and  numbers. 

The  chief  figure  of  the  time,  Richard  the 
Lion  Heart,  was  never  seen  at  Falaise.  He 
contented  himself  with  assigning  the  town  and 
chateau  to  his  wife  Berenice,  as  part  of  her 
dowry.  Richard  took  more  interest  in  his 
Chateau  Gaillard  than  in  Falaise.  "  Ou  elle 
est  belle,  ma  fille  d'un  an  I  "  he  exclaimed,  after 

IS 


2  26  FALAISE 

the  astonishingly  quick  completion  of  the  first 
true  rival  to  Falaise's  supremac}^  among  im- 
pregnable heights. 

His  brother  and  successor,  John,  contented 
himself  with  the  making  of  any  number  of 
royal  entrances  to  Falaise.  No  less  than  five 
times  in  the  space  of  as  many  years  did  the 
loyal  town  hang  its  streets  with  carpets  and 
embroidered  linen  and  curtain  its  churches 
with  rich  cloths.  Royal  as  were  Jean  Sans- 
Terre's  tastes,  his  luxurious  nature  felt  no 
qualms  when  it  came  to  murder.  Pale,  sad- 
eyed  Arthur  of  Brittany,  who,  alive,  was  a 
perpetual  source  of  uneasiness  to  the  uncle 
who  had  confiscated  his  estates,  spent  the  only 
happy  months  of  his  long  imprisonment  within 
the  walls  of  the  chateau.  It  was  deemed  the 
Falaisians  were  indeed  too  kind ;  the  royal 
youth,  therefore,  was  taken  to  Rouen.  Even 
there  no  Norman  could  be  found  to  do  the 
dreadful  deed.  "  I  am  a  nobleman,  not  an 
executioner,"  had  been  the  reply  of  the  Sieur 
Guillaume  de  Briouze,  when  King  John 
suggested  to  the  latter  how  one  whom  he  had 
loaded  with  favors  could  help  liim.     What  no 


T}IE    CHA  TEA  U  DE   EALA ISE  227 

Norman  subject  would  do,  a  Norman  Duke 
could  and  did.  In  the  Rouen  Tower  by  the 
Seine,  where  Joan  of  Arc  was  imprisoned, 
John's  dagger  found  Arthur's  heart.  The 
dark  deed,  no  sooner  done,  than  it  began  to 
breed  a  darker  vengeance.  Philip  Augustus, 
the  French  King,  and  Arthur's  father-in-law, 
took  the  surest  means  of  punishing  the  awful 
crime.  Having,  in  loyal  feudal  fashion,  first 
summoned  John  to  appear  before  his  peers 
at  the  French  Court  to  answer  for  his  crime, 
and  John  having  refused  to  deliver  himself  up 
to  certain  condemnation,  the  latter's  fief  of 
Normandy  was,  therefore,  declared  forfeited  — 
for  fiefs,  according  to  laws  governing  feudal- 
ism, were  lost  by  rebellion,  felony,  or  treason. 
Philip  Augustus,  at  the  head  of  a  fine  army, 
then  proceeded  to  make  good  his  sentence. 
He  took  by  assault  not  only  the  Chateaux  of 
Conches,  Audely  and  of  Radepont,  but  also  the 
''  saucy  castle,"  the  "  beautiful  girl  of  a  year," 
Richard's  Chateau  Gaillard.  Next  P'alaise,  the 
key  of  Lower  Normandy,  was  attacked. 

Who  knows  what  might  have  happened  had 
not  John   been  a  fool  as  well  as  a  murderer.? 


2  28  FALAISE 

He  fled  to  England,  leaving  a  stranger  to  head 
the  defence  of  Falaise,  for  in  outlining  the  plan 
of  resistance  of  Falaise  he  committed  the  irre- 
parable folly  of  unsettling  the  town  by  giving 
its  command  to  a  foreigner.  Falaise,  always 
loyal,  and  having  double  reason  to  remain  true 
to  a  prince  who,  however  cruel  he  might  be, 
at  least  had  o-iven  to  Falaisians  their  corner- 
stone  of  municipal  freedom,  suffered  a  quick 
revulsion  of  feeling.  Incensed  at  their  Duke's 
disdain,  and  outraged  at  being  led  against  their 
French  King  by  a  Belgian,  a  mercenary,  the 
Falaisians  prepared  reprisals  as  clever  as  they 
were  effective. 

For  seven  days  they  allowed  the  King 
Philip  Augustus  to  spread  out  his  war  machin- 
ery beneath  the  chateau.  The  French  stand- 
ards fiew  in  a  half  circle,  close  to  the  great 
walls.  And  meanwhile  Falaise,  over  her 
battlemented  heights,  smiled  a  malicious,  know- 
ing smile.  For  her  citizens,  after  the  seventh 
day,  quietly  marched  down  to  Philip's  camp, 
delivering  up  to  him  the  town  and  castle. 
Their  recorded  reason  for  the  capitulation  is 
rich  in  meaning:   "  They  liked  better  to  render 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  229 

up  the  fortress  intact,  and  to  preserve  their 
properties  and  the  Hberties  of  the  town  than  to 
be  Normans  !  " 

Normans  had  made  them  ;  had  led  them  to 
fight  at  Varaville  against  France  ;  had  iired 
Norman  greed  and  ambition  to  conquer  Eng- 
land ;  and  the  same  Norman  leadership  had 
brought  from  the  Holy  Land  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  aureole  of  the  crown  of  Jerusalem  to 
be  refused  by  their  Norman  Duke.  By  the 
very  perversity  of  that  fate  which  seems  to 
delight  in  mixing  good  with  evil,  to  this  last 
true  Duke,  they  owed  the  very  concessions 
and  privileges  which  had  made  the  new  word 
"  Liberty  "  stronger  than  loyalty,  their  new 
rights  better  worth  fighting  for  than  the  barren 
honor  of  continuing  the  reign  of  Rollo's  race 
on  Norman  soil. 

With  this  their  first  assertion  of  a  true  inde- 
pendence of  spirit,  a  new  and  vigorous  life 
begins  at  Falaise.  The  new  ideal  of  citizenship 
had  begun  to  fire  the  minds  of  burghers  and 
householders.  \w  the  camp  Ijcfore  Falaise,  in 
castris  apud  Falcsiani.  Phili})  confirmed  the 
charter  of  the  town's  true  birth.     As  French- 


230  FA  LA  IS  E 

men  these  Normans  were  to  circulate  and  traffic 
freely  throughout  the  kingdom — the  town  of 
Mantes  alone  excepted.  The  "  Commune," 
granted  by  John,  was  thus  confirmed. 

\\\\\\  the  passing  of  Normandy  to  the  French 
crown,  an  entirely  new  destiny  came  to  Falaise. 
Hitherto,  she  had  been  one  of  the  chief  jewels 
in  the  ducal  crown.  As  such  she  had  been  a 
town  and  a  castle  to  be  used  as  lier  owner 
willed.  Her  citizens'  and  nobles'  blood  must 
be  spilled,  their  property  at  the  mercy  of  pillage 
or  plunder,  in  battles  that  were  none  of  their 
makino;. 

Meanwhile,  during  all  the  years  of  this 
former  feudal  servitude,  other  battles,  not 
fouoht  with  the  lance  and  bow,  were  brino-ins^ 
deliverance  to  Falaise. 

The  tanners  and  cotton  dyers,  and  later  the 
cutlers,  working  as  best  they  might ;  forced  to 
fiy  to  the  narrower  town  streets  for  refuge  in 
times  of  siege ;  yet,  persecuted  as  they  and 
their  dwellings  were  by  pillage  and  fire,  were 
they  and  their  commerce  growing  year  by  year 
in  power  and  importance.  Against  the  tyranny 
of  the  feudal  system,  a  slow  but  mighty  power 


THE    CHATEAU  DE   EALAISE  23  I 

was  thus  in  process  of  formation.  Humble  pigs 
and  cattle,  the  horses,  always  in  demand  in  a 
town  as  constantly  at  war ;  and  the  long  proces- 
sion of  the  merchants  with  their  merchandise, 
o-oing  up  year  after  year  to  the  T^air  at  Guibray, 

—  these  were  the  forces  arrayed  for  the  battle 
waored  bv  burghers  for  freedom  and  "privileges;" 

—  "rights"  these  became  only  when  the  privi- 
leges were  once  granted.  The  first  great  con- 
quest was  when,  in  1203,  Jean  Marechal  was 
nominated  "' baillif "  of  the  town;  hitherto  all 
civic  affairs  had  had  to  be  decided  by  the  mili- 
tary commander  or  Vicomte  of  the  Duchy. 
Such  was  the  beginning  of  those  other  "  rights  " 
that  came  about  with  the  gradual  development 
of  true  citizenship,  with  the  institutions  of 
the  "Communes,"  and  "  L'Echiiquier  de  Nor- 
mandie,"  the  latter  a  sort  of  ambulatory  court 
of  justice,  composed  of  prelates,  abbots,  and 
lords. 

Thus  we  see  Falaise  emerging  from  the 
anarchy  of  feudalism  into  that  period  of  tran- 
sition during  which  the  chaotic  forces  in  society 
were  beins:  resolved  into  law  and  order.  This 
small    and    now   almost    forgotten    town    con- 


232  FALAISE 

tributed  another  element  to  the  growth  of 
modern  society.  If  in  the  tiny  bee  beneath 
the  donjon  the  dipping  of  hides  in  dye  was 
to  bring  that  wealth  to  Falaise  which  made 
her  ''ricjhts"  worthy  the  consideration  of  KinQ-s, 
on  her  chateau  plains  other  "  rights  "  were 
beino[  fousfht  out.  Chivalry,  "that  eighth  sac- 
rament,"  incorporated  the  divine  principle  of 
individualism  ;  the  destructive  principle  of  col- 
lectivism, that  was  the  base  of  feudalism,  was 
to  go  down  before  that  "  winged  ''  shape,  even 
as  the  dragon  writhes  beneath  the  feet  of 
St.  George. 

Chivalry,  in  its  turn,  having  served  its  end, 
was,  later,  to  meet  its  first  downthrow  at  Agin- 
court.  Henry  \ .,  the  English  King,  had  seen 
the  shield  of  France  lowered.  With  the  imbe- 
cility of  its  "  wandering  "  King  Charles  I W,  and 
with  dissensions  at  home,  the  foreigner  saw  the 
rieht  moment  for  striking:  a  blow  for  those  lost 
possessions,  the  very  thought  of  whose  loss 
made  English  Kings  writhe. 

After  the  nobility  of  France  had  gone  down 
before  English  Knights  and  Barons,  came  the 
turn    of   towns    and    fortresses.      Falaise    was 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  233 

deemed  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant 
Henry's  own  presence  at  the  siege. 

Of  all  the  twelve  sies^es  sustained  bv  the 
Chateau  of  Falaise,  its  attack  by  the  English 
King  Henry  was  the  most  prolonged  and  ter- 
rible. The  town  and  chateau  were  surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  the  English  troops.  The  Duke 
of  Gloucester  was  encamped  near  Guibray. 
The  Kino-  himself  held  the  heis^hts  of  Mont 
Mi  rat. 

Hitherto  the  walls  of  Falaise  had  proudly 
defied  catapults  and  their  stone  projectiles  to 
do  their  worst.  Now,  on  the  Mont  Mirat,  a 
new  enemy  was  to  be  faced.  It  was  one  before 
which,  in  a  few  after  years,  all  walls  were  to 
crumble,  even  as  the  chivalry  of  France  had 
gone  down  before  the  English  troops.  Can- 
non belched  forth  its  balls  of  fire.  And  yet, 
even  against  this  new  enemy,  together  with  all 
the  older  war-machinery  in  full  force,  —  for 
stone  projectiles  of  such  enormous  size  were 
shot  from  catapults  and  balistas  that  it 
seemed  as  if  nothinor  in  town  or  chateau  could 
survive  their  continuous  rain  —  yet  did  Falaise 
hold  out  for  forty-seven  days.     Then  the  worst 


2  34  FALAISE 

of  all  foes  entered  the  town  and  took  posses- 
sion. Gaunt-eyed  famine  imprinted  its  grim 
horror  on  every  Falaisian  face.  And  then  it 
was,  —  with  weak  and  tottering  step,  its  town 
a  ruin,  its  fair  churches  a  wreck,  its  walls  the 
very  mockery  of  defence,  and  its  chateau  so 
battered  as  to  be  almost  a  shell,  that  Falaise 
capitulated. 

John  Talbot,  named  Governor  of  the  Castle, 
rebuilt  the  castle,  its  walls,  and  added  the 
beautiful  tower  that  bears  his  name. 

Exactly  thirty-three  years  after,  Charles  \\\., 
Joan  of  Arc's  pale,  wan  King,  turned  to  man 
and  soldier  by  her  girl  courage,  re-conquered 
Falaise,  as  he  did  the  rest  of  Normandy. 

V 

This  last  conquest  of  Falaise  was  its  final 
riveting  to  that  rich  chain  of  united  French 
provinces  which  formed  the  glorious  parure  of 
subsequent  French  Kings.  Once  the  hated 
English  out  of  France,  and  the  true  welding  of 
the  kingdom  was  possible.  Her  laws,  her 
government  were  organized.     In  lieu  of    mer- 


THE    CHATEAU  DE  FALAISE  235 

cenaries,  of  soldiers  of  fortune,  or  of  noblemen 
in  pursuit  of  gain  or  pleasure,  the  beginnings 
of  a  standing  army  startled  Europe.  The 
"  French  Chivalry,"  became  the  "  Gendarmerie 
Frangaise  "  and  "  francs  archers  "  the  national 
infantry.  Cannon  was  perfected.  France,  in 
a  word  was  ready  for  the  strong  hand  of  Louis 
XI. 

In  the  subsequent  amazing  strides  taken  by 
France  in  the  next  one  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
Falaise  was  no  laggard.  A  passive,  rather 
than  an  active  force,  she  nevertheless  added 
her  quota  to  this  evolution  of  the  national 
character  which  was  to  produce  the  men  of  the 
Renaissance. 

The  very  last  of  her  Norman  Dukes  had 
given  her  the  charter  of  her  liberty.  Her 
rio;hts  and  ouarantees  were  the  first  thino:s 
fought  for  in  all  future  articles  of  peace  or 
treaties  of  capitulation.  The  first  of  her  French 
Kings  to  make  her  for  evermore  a  true  French 
town  gave  her  the  right,  at  Guibray,  to  build 
the  city  of  the  P^air.  For  the  hundred  and  fifty 
years  after  Charles  VII.  had  granted  to  Gui- 
bray "its  Halls  and   Booths,"  not  a  single  year 


236  FALAISE 

had  to  be  wasted ;  in  that  long  interval  of 
peace,  Falaise  and  her  suburb  were  busy  in 
making  themselves  as  famous  as  producers  and 
merchants,  as  they  had  made  Europe  ring  in 
earlier  days  with  the  fame  of  their  sieges  and 
courage. 

To  the  crude  tanneries  of  the  days  of  earlier 
Norman  occupation,  Falaise  in  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries  had  added  no  less  than 
two  hundred  different  trades  in  and  about  her 
inmiediate  neighborhood.  In  some  of  these 
industries  she  was  considered  unrivalled.  Her 
tanneries  were  become  the  best  in  France. 
Her  cutlery  and  cloths  were  also  renowned. 
Her  Fair,  yearly,  brought  half  of  mercantile 
Europe  to  prove  her  supremacy  in  certain 
lines  by  the  high  prices  commanded  for  her 
productions.  With  her  famous  fortress  en- 
tirely restored;  her  Talbot  Tower  intact;  her 
walls  and  great  gateways  rebuilt,  and  her 
commerce  and  Fair  in  high  prosperity,  Falaise, 
during  the  reigns  of  her  later  Valois  Kings, 
was  in  full  flower  of  success. 

Its  last  siege,  therefore,  did  the  town  the 
greater    credit.     The    citizens,    though    grown 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   EALAISE  237 

rich,  had  not  lost,  in  the  piping  times  of  peace, 
tliat  noble  courage  and  strength  of  principle 
which  wealth  so  often  steals  away.  Luther, 
Calvin,  Loyola  —  here  were  rallying  cries  new 
to  ears  whose  grandsires  were  never  wearied 
of  repeating  William  the  Conqueror's  great 
oath,  "  Par  la  splendeur  de  Dieu."  Falaisians 
vowed  that  no  Protestant  King,  with  his 
hated  English  mercenaries  —  the  help  Eliz- 
abeth had  sent  and  for  which  Henry  IW  had 
waited  before  attacking  Falaise  —  should  ever 
rule  over  Falaise.  Their  convictions  were  as 
strong  as  they  believed  their  walls  to  be  once 
more  unconquerable.  There  had  been  fight- 
ing between  Catholics  and  Huguenots  before 
this  final  appearance  of  the  "  King  of  Xavarre." 
De  Brissac  and  the  Hu2:uenot  Montscomerv  had 
had  a  test  of  strength  of  arms  and  walls  in 
proof  of  their  conflicting  religious  views  con- 
cerning popes  and  the  priesthood.  De  Brissac 
had  won  and  still  held  the  fortress. 

When  the  white  plume  of  Navarre  appeared 
before  the  ramparts,  followed  by  the  long  line 
of  French  noblemen  and  Elizabeth's  despised 
troopers,  De   Brissac's  rage  against  the   hated 


238  FALAISE 

heretic  flamed  higher  than  ever.  Henry 
quietly  took  up  liis  headquarters  with  the 
Mayor  of  Falaise.  Then  he  summoned  De 
Brissac  to  render  up  the  castle.  The  Count 
insolently  replied  that  "he  really  could  not,  in 
conscience,  since  he  had  sworn  not  to  do  so  on 
the  Holy  Ghost."  Also,  that  for  further  ex- 
planation he  would  wait  six  months. 

"  Ventre  Saint-gris ! "  was  the  hot-headed 
King's  oath  to  that  answer.  "  I  '11  give  him 
absolution  of  his  oath  —  I  will  change  the 
months  into  days!"  Thereupon  he  planted 
his  cannon  on  the  neighboring  heights.  A 
breech  was  soon  made  in  the  Tour  de  la  Reine. 
Henry's  soldiers  made  the  easier  climb  and 
ascent  along  the  walls,  as  the  pond,  the  walls' 
chief  defence  outwards,  was  frozen  over. 
Henry's  command  was  to  "push  forward." 
The  troops  were  soon  in  command  of  the 
chateau  —  the  inner  living  palace.  The  ruin 
made  of  the  fortress  by  the  artillery  had 
turned  to  cowards  the  hiding  garrison. 
Henry's  troopers  found  no  warriors  to  fight. 
At  the  town's  gateway,  however,  a  brilliant 
resistance  was  encountered.     Here  the  towns- 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  239 

people,  armed  and  hot  with  hate,  fouglit  like 
demons. 

Two  notable  acts  of  heroism  aureole  this  last 
of  the  Falaisian  sieges  with  the  crown  of  heroic 
martyrdom.  Two  young  lovers  fought  side 
by  side  at  this  battle  at  the  gate.  The  young 
man  fell,  mortally  wounded.  With  redoubled 
i\ix\  the  lovely  Falaisian  girl  fought  across 
her  betrothed's  dead  body.  The  conquerors, 
touched  by  so  great  a  courage,  tried  to  save 
her.  But  she  yielded  only  to  the  conqueror, 
Death.  As  the  fatal  ball  struck  her,  she 
smiled  as  she  reeled,  flinging  herself,  with  her 
last  convulsive  strength,  across  the  dead  body 
of  him  she  loved. 

At  another  of  the  gates,  meanwhile,  the 
King  himself  had  been  witness  of  as  great  an 
act  of  bravery.  A  woman,  single-handed,  had 
kept  the  King's  troops  from  entering,  by  roll- 
ing down  upon  them  enormous  stones.  This 
woman  was  thought  to  be  a  man,  until  it  was 
discovered  the  helmet  and  armor  covered  a 
woman's  weaker  frame.  When  led  before  the 
Kine,  the  interview  between  a  woman  like 
"  La  Grande  Eperonniere"  and  "  Lc  Roi  \  ert 


240  FA  LA  IS E 

et  Galant  "  was  characteristic.  "  Why  do  you 
crush  my  troops,  since  I  am  your  Master?" 
"  Were  I  your  subject  I  should  defend  you. 
You  are  my  prince's  enemy,  I  must  defend 
him!  "(The  phantom  Prince  de  Bourbon  had 
been  designated  as  Henry's  rival  to  the  crown.) 
'' Royale  Militaire  —  thou  art  right.  I  par- 
don thee.  What  dost  thou  wish  granted 
thee  ? "  "  That  my  street  be  exempt  from 
pillage."  "  So  be  it."  The  news  of  the  grace 
o-ranted  L'Eperonniere  flew  from  street  to 
street.  In  four  hours'  time  —  the  time  granted 
for  the  closing  of  the  street  —  all  the  portable 
wealth  of  Falaise,  its  old  and  young,  its  loveli- 
est women,  and  its  wounded  and  crippled,  were 
securely  locked  within  the  street  du  Camp- 
ferme.  The  rest  of  the  town  and  its  rich 
suburbs  were  then  given  over  to  the  lawless 
plunder  of  pitiless  English  hands  and  French 
o^reed. 

Nicolas  de  Sassier,  however,  by  his  clever, 
courageous  act  was  soon  making  the  King 
that  famous  appeal  for  the  restitution  of  the 
Guibray  Fair,  which  concession  would  be  the 
means,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  of  replen- 


THE   CHATEAU  DE   FALAISE  24 1 

ishing  tlic  empty  Normandy  chests  and   town 
exchccjULT. 

The  last  act,  before  the  fall  of  the  curtain  on 
Falaise's  demolished  fortress  and  her  levelled 
walls,  was  a  curious  one.  In  the  Chateau  de  la 
Courbonnet,  the  Mayor's  Castle,  the  King  ^at 
him  down  to  write  a  letter.  It  was  to  his  love, 
Gabrielle  d'Estrees.  In  it  he  tells  her  his 
mox'ements  diu'ino;  the  last  month  : 

"  My  soul,  since  the  going  of  Lyceran  I  have  taken 
the  towns  of  Seez,  Argentan,  and  Falaise,  where  I 
caught  De  Brissac  and  all  he  had  gathered  about 
him  of  help  for  Normandie.  To-morrow  I  leave  to 
attack  Lisieux.  .  .  .  My  troops  have  grown  since  the 
departure  of  Lyceran  to  nearly  six  hundred  nobles 
and  ten  thousand  infantry;  so  that  by  God's  grace  I 
no  longer  fear  anything  from  the  Ligue.  I  made  in 
a  night  what  I  did  not  think  to  make  in  Normandie 
in  a  year." 

"  In  Falaise  this  8th  of  January. 

"  P.  S. —  In  finishing  this  letter,  those  from  Bayeux 
have  brought  me  the  keys,  which  is  a  very  good 
town." 

The  true  drama  of  the  fortress  opened  with 
the  loves  of  Robert  and  Arlette.  The  last  act 
closes  upon   the   ruined  chateau  and  this  writ- 

i6 


242 


FALAISE 


ing  of  a  strangely  laconic  love-letter  of  her 
conqueror  to  his  "amie."  Between  the  two 
events  there  had  rolled  the  ever-swelling  move- 
ment of  Normandy's  advance  toward  peace 
and  unity.  For  thus  it  is  that  humanity 
pushes  onward,  making  the  pettier  dramas  of 
the  Dukes  and  Kings  of  a  day  forgotten  inci- 
dents in  that  mightier  movement  of  universal 
progress. 


Street  Vieiv,  Falaise. 


CHAPTER    \'II 

FALAISE    OF    OUR    OWX    TBIE 
I 

TO  be  French  anywhere,  is  to  be  vividly, 
responsively  ahve.  Falaise,  with  its  mod- 
ernized streets;  with  its  contented  provincial 
traffic ;  in  its  prosperous  if  somewhat  mature 
aspect  of  peaceful  calm,  confirms  you  in 
your  conviction  —  should  you  chance  to  know 
French  provinces  —  that  in  a  country  so 
thoroughly  vitalized  as  is  F'rance,  there  are 
no  dead  places.  Falaise  holds  up  her  head 
once  more ;  she  has  bound  up  her  wounds ; 
she  has  nursed  herself  back  to  life  and  health  ; 
she  now  presents  herself  to  vou  in  the  almost 
ideal  aspect  of  a  robust,  still  brilliantly  colored 
old  age. 

You  will  find  her  attraction  deeper  than 
any  glitter  of  mere  brilliancy.  She  possesses, 
in  a  pre-eminent  degree,  the  subtler  persuasion 


246  FALAISE 

of  charm.  Day  by  day,  as  you  lose  the  count 
of  days  or  time  in  the  study  of  her  changeful, 
expressive  features,  rich  in  contrasts,  exquisite 
in  their  delicate  insinuations  of  all  the  life 
lived  to  form  such  outlines,  you  find  her  power 
gaining  upon  you.  The  charm  will  begin  to 
work  its  spell  as  you  wander  from  church  to 
church ;  it  beckons  you  onward,  to  follow 
among  the  lovely  confusion  of  terraces,  gar- 
dens, and  narrow  lanes  until  you  find  for  your- 
self the  maidens  still  going  to  the  fountain  in 
the  \^aldante ;  in  wanton  coquetry,  it  lures  you 
to  climb  the  heights  of  Mont  Mirat;  and  it  will 
not  rest,  nor  let  you,  until,  after  showing  you 
the  state  of  its  fine  chateau  and  broad  ances- 
tral acres,  your  capture  is  completed,  once  it 
snares  you  beneath  the  cool  and  shade  of  its 
tree-domed  ramparts,  close  to  the  shadow  of  its 
great  white  fortress. 

II 

The  churches  of  Falaise,  you  will  find,  are 
as  varied  in  their  presentment  of  architectural 
features,   as   has   been    their   history.     For  an 


FA  LA  IS  E    OF  OUR    OWN   TIME  247 

appreciati\-e  enjoyment,  indeed,  of  the  ecelesi- 
astical  areliitecture  of  Falaise  a  certain  knowl- 
eds^e  of  its  historv  is  essential.  There  are  few 
places  where  one  can  carry  from  Jiouse  to 
house,  or  from  church  to  church,  the  scenes  in 
history  with  so  little  fear  of  the  shock  of  dis- 
illusion as  at  P^alaise.  Nature  is  here  the  first 
and  most  loyal  of  allies.  What  nian  has 
wholly,  or  in  part  destroyed,  nature,  with  an 
almost  tropical  exuberance,  has  restored  and 
beautified. 

In  the  first  walk  I  shall  ask  you  to  take,  to 
see  the  oldest  of  all  the  churches  at  Falaise, 
vou  will  find  nature  so  altoo^ether  enthralling, 
that  the  church  at  the  end  of  the  walk  will 
take  a  merely  secondary  place.  Out  from  the 
Place  St.  Gervais,  you  turn  from  the  modern- 
named  street  Victor  Hugo,  down  the  more 
ancient  Rue  de  Brebisson,  to  what  remains  of 
the  noble  tenth-century  gateway,  La  Porte  le 
Comte.  This  gate  was  the  first  to  sustain 
attack  in  case  of  an  assault  upon  the  castle 
from  this  side.  Unaided,  relying  upon  its 
stout  bastions  and  high  towers,  the  formidable 
gate   repulsed  and  held  at  bay  many  an  army, 


248 


FA  LA  IS E 


its  deeds  of  prowess  second  only  to  those  that 
aureole  the  chateau's  history.  Its  destruction 
dates  from  the  latter  end  of  the  last  cen- 
tury.    Its  archway  was  found  too  low  for  the 

passage  of  loaded 
haycarts.  The 
feeling  of  irrita- 
tion at  such 
vandalism  was 
still  strong  upon 
me,  as  I  felt  the 
cool  breezes  of 
the  Valdante. 

The  quick  pre- 
cipitation from 
the  life  and 
t  h  i  c  k  1  y  -  b  u  i  1 1 
streets  of  Falaise 
to  the  lap  of 
the  charming  valley,  was  detectable  to  both  eye 
and  nostril.  As  I  climbed  the  low  hillside,  the 
houses  nestino-  in  their  odorous  orardens  were 
in  conspiracy  to  make  the  pursuit  of  old  stones, 
built  into  lines  of  beauty,  seem  a  waste  of 
vision.     For  there  was  the  glitter  of  the  tiny 


A  House  in  the   Valley. 


T/w.  yorinait  Church  of  St.  Lat/renf. 


FA  LA  IS  E    OF  OUR    OIV.Y   TIME 


2=^1 


river,  sparkling  through  waxen  peach-blossoms, 
and  there  was  a  brighter  lustre  still  in  the  eyes 
of  the  girl  who,  beneath  the  snows  of  an  apple- 
tree,  was  holding  a  swathed  babe,  as  if  stand- 
ing as  a  model  for  a  I'iroin  and  child. 


The  Corniche  of  D'  Aiibigny 


The  lovely  little  edifice  that  suddenly  con- 
fronted me  was  amazingly  in  keeping  with 
that  picture  beneath  the  apple-blossoms.  The 
building  was  of  no  great  height,  yet  it  gives 
one  the  impression  of  an  immense  dignity. 
Its  flight  of  twenty-three  steps  lent  it  the  pose 
of  a  statue  well  placed  upon  a  suitable  pedes- 


252  FALAISE 

tal.  In  the  midst  of  the  flower}^  frame  of 
shrubs  and  verdure,  this  old  chapel  of  St. 
Laurent,  set  high  upon  its  rock,  recalled  those 
still  older  Eastern  temples  built  in  the  heart  of 
woods  or  gardens. 

This  venerable  Norman  chapel  is  so  genuine 
an  antique  that  age  has  ceased  to  produce  its 
effect;  some  centuries  ago,  weather,  the  sun, 
and  frost  had  each  had  their  turn  in  softening 
certain  features  and  roughening  others.  The 
last  effect  produced,  is  one  of  a  most  delightful 
harmony  —  in  gray.  The  rude  and  simple 
Norman  front,  with  its  two  tiny,  Gothic  upper 
windows,  as  after  thoughts,  are  unified  by  the 
grayish  tone  of  the  fa9ade.  In  spite  of  the 
inevitable  restorations  and  whitewashing,  dis- 
figuring processes,  there  is  a  convincing  sim- 
plicity in  the  Norman  nave,  in  the  old  walls 
with  their  herring-bone  masonry,  —  the  best  of 
all  signs  of  their  true  age,  —  and  in  the  primi- 
tive buttresses  and  deeply  recessed  windows. 
St.  Laurent  is  indeed  no  architectural  impostor. 
Its  very  chimes  have  the  accent  of  venerable 
ao-e.  As  they  ring  along  the  valley,  there  falls 
upon  the  air   a  village    sabbatical    calm ;    the 


FA  LA  IS  E   OF  OUR    OWN    TIME  253 

worn  silvery  bell-notes  seem  to  be  telling  you 
the  secret  of  their  longevity. 

Ill 

To  be  close  to  the  Valdante,  and  not  to 
make  the  tourists'  devout  pilgrimage  to  Ar- 
lette's  fountain  would  have  been  an  incredible 
folly.  Equally  foolish  did  it  seem  to  leave  a 
view,  whichever  way  one  walked,  that  grew  in 
beauty  and  glory.  So  magnificent  in  breadth 
and  extent  was  the  prospect,  as  I  drew  the 
closer  to  the  Chateau  de  jMesnilriant,  that 
there  seemed  no  effusions  of  enthusiasm  left 
for  merely  historical  sites. 

To  drop  downwards  from  intercourse  with 
sunlit  clouds  into  the  heart  of  a  mediaeval  vil- 
lage, was  one  of  those  contrasts  we  Americans 
count  on  as  the  reward  of  our  journeys.  I 
think,  if  the  truth  were  told,  we  also  count 
upon  a  certain  amount  of  suffering  from  the 
smell  and  dirt,  rarely  inseparable  from  such 
well-authenticated  middle-age  streets  and 
methods  of  sewerage.  These  sufferings  are 
something    to   which    everyone   will    listen,   in 


254 


FA  LA  IS  E 


sympathetic  disgust,  when  effusions  over  archi- 
tecture or  views  fall  on  deaf  ears. 

In  the  Valdante,  you  will  have  the  middle 
ages  in  your  teeth.     It  is  impossible  to  believe 

either  houses, 
or  customs,  of 
smells,  ha  \'  e 
changed  in  some 
hundreds  of 
years.  The  walk 
into  the  valley, 
should  you  take 
it  from  the 
bridge  over  the 
moat,  just  be- 
neath the  glisten- 
ing fagades  of  the 
Chateau  de  La 
Butte,  will  be  a 
composite  assemblage  of  the  old  and  the  new. 
The  thickly  built  hillside  to  your  left,  will 
present  to  you  as  remarkable  a  collection  of 
old  houses,  gardens,  and  terraces  crowned  by 
brown  walls,  out  of  which  grow  trees,  and 
here-and-there  the   arreat  curves  of   a  bastion 


ValdtDite  a?id  Porte  des  Cordeliers. 


FA  LA  IS  E    OF  OUR    OJJ'.V   TIME  255 

—  as  you  may  hope  to  see  this,  the  French 
side,  of  the  Alps.  There  was  an  Italian  color- 
ing, and  something  also  of  that  close  family 
intimacy  in  both  houses  and  inhabitants,  in 
the  little  street  that,  quite  sudden.ly,  running  at 
ri<'-ht  ancrles  across  the  lane,  I  found  to  be  the 
chief  Valdante  thoroughfare. 

In  this  narrow  thoroughfare  there  were  no 
sidewalks.  The  low  houses  were  close  to  the 
street;  centuries  old  they  looked  and  were  — 
these  quaint  crooked  little  houses.  There  were 
stone  seats,  worn  into  hollows,  outside  of  many 
of  the  houses ;  there  were  deeply  recessed  win- 
dows, small  and  narrow,  to  which  glass  had 
come  as  a  surprise  ;  there  were  lunettes,  still 
unglazed;  and  wide  doors,  nearly  as  wide  as 
the  stone  huts,  through  which  cows  and  hay- 
carts,  for  generations,  have  passed.  To  the 
left,  as  I  followed  the  road,  there  was  the  glitter 
and  the  ripple  of  the  tiny  rivulet  that  has 
played  such  a  great  part  in  history.  Nothing 
more  friendly  and  companionable  could  be  im- 
agined than  the  river  and  the  road.  Together 
they  twisted  and  turned,  the  one  between  ferns, 
o-rassy  banks,  and  bits  of  garden  stretches,  while 


256  FALAISE 

the  latter  carried  its  antique  collections  of 
houses  along  with  the  comfortable  wandering 
gait  of  a  country  lane. 

Here,  as  everywhere  else  in  Falaise,  the 
spring  had  come  as  the  most  generous  of  deco- 
rators. All  the  Valdante  was  in  bloom  and 
blossom.  From  every  window-ledge  there  was 
the  glow  of  the  deep-eyed  pansy,  or  roses  in 
thick  clusters,  or  the  splendid  pallor  of  the 
lilies  we  call  Easter.  Gardens  there  were  close 
to  the  river,  about  some  of  the  richer  ivy-grown 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  century  houses  ;  the 
hillside  above  was  one  vast  garden  indeed, 
where  the  lilacs  splashed  their  white  and  purple 
sprays  over  the  yellow  broom,  and  stately  chest- 
nuts carried  their  red  and  white  blossoms  as  if 
each  were  a  heavy  candelabra. 

The  old  women  who  were  warming  their 
bones  in  the  sun,  along  the  river,  were  the  color 
of  shrivelled  mummies  against  this  May  bloom. 
A  young  mother,  hushing  her  babe's  querulous 
cries,  seemed,  rather,  to  have  borrowed  the 
glow  of  the  springtime.  Everywhere  urchins 
and  children  were  romping  and  playing.  The 
Valdante  was  as  noisy  as  a  school-house  play- 


FALAISE   OF  OUR   OWN  TIME  259 

o-round.  Above  all  other  sounds  rose  the  buzz 
and  whirr  of  the  cotton-spinners.  Not  a  house 
but  had  its  whirring  figure  mounted  on  the 
round  of  the  circular  spinning  machines.  The 
men's  faces  looked  out,  across  their  window 
gardens,  through  tired  eyes,  as  they  swayed 
their  lean,  ceaselessly-moving  figures  about 
their  half-knit  jerseys  on  the  frames.  Old 
women,  also,  were  spinning;  their  wheels  were 
brought  close  to  the  door.  This  older,  antique 
method  left  no  sting  of  compassion.  "  Que 
voulez-vous,  Madame.?  "  one  of  them  answered, 
as  I  stopped  for  a  moment  of  talk.  "  In  one's 
youth  —  quand  on  est  jeiinc  —  one  scorns  such 
old-fashioned  trades.  But  when  one  is  old  — 
without  eyes  to  see  well,  or  fingers  to  move 
easily,  or  legs  to  walk,  the  wheel  is  a  good 
friend."  I  left  her,  feeling  the  richer  for  the 
old  woman's  philosophic  content  in  her  toil. 

Arlette's  fountain  at  last ! 

It  was  only  a  deep  wide  hole  in  the  wall,  as 
commonplace  a  well  as  one  could  imagine.  A 
look  upwards,  however,  and  the  commonplace 
ended.  The  chateau  was  rising  up  aloft  with  an 
immense  majesty,  it  was  true  ;  but  the  castle  was 


26o 


FALAISE 


also  astoundingly  neighborly  —  there  was  no 
question  of  that.  It  was  almost  impossible,  I 
should  say,  to  conceive  of  a  grim  feudal  fortress 
being   on  a  friendlier  footing   with   a   humble 


A   C/idieau  in   Toiun 


valley,  that  is,  the  Chateau  of  Falaise  with  the 
Valdante.  In  its  fiercer,  warlike  moods,  a  bow- 
man of  even  average  skill  with  the  bow  could 
have  lodged  his  arrow  here  below  where  he 
willed.  Why  might  not  a  lover's  eye  have 
covered  the  distance  ? 


FA  LA  IS  E   OF  OUR   OWN  TIME  26 1 

As  if  to  make  the  historic  fiiglit  backwards 
the  less  arduous,  across  the  h'ttle  river  was  a 
tannery.  Its  colors  still  stained  the  bank  and 
tinted  the  running  stream  as  they  have  through 
so  many  a  century.  The  odor  of  the  bark 
was  thick  upon  the  air.  A  tall  strong  figure 
emerged  from  the  tannery,  the  man's  reddened 
arms  and  stained  boots  the  color  of  dried 
blood.  Neither  the  scarlet  arms  nor  the 
deeply  dyed  apron  affrighted  the  child,  a 
girl,  who,  with  blond  curls  streaming  in  the 
wind,  ran  forward  to  the  scarlet  arms  opened 
wide  to  receive  her.  "  Papa !  Papa !  "  cried 
the  childish  voice,  in  its  lisping  liquid  French, 
"  Viens  —  the  soup  is  on  !  " 

I  cannot  tell  just  why  I  found  the  homely 
scene  at  once  touchino-  and  re-assurincj.  Ver- 
pray,  Arlette  —  Robert  —  those  historic  per- 
sonages were  no  longer  remote,  phantasmal ; 
they  were  you  and  I,  the  child  yonder  and 
its  stalwart  father,  all  of  us  who  repeat,  genera- 
tion after  generation,  the  same  old,  the  ever- 
young,  eternal  round  of  human  love  and 
human  toil. 


262  FA  LA  IS  E 


IV 


In  making  the  further  tour  of  the  churches 
of  Falaise,  one  is  confronted  with  the  most 
eloquent  of  all  proofs  of  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
town's  history.  There  is  not  in  all  the  town 
a  single  sacred  edifice  that  can  be  called 
entirely  Norman.  William,  the  master-genius, 
and  Odo,  his  great  ecclesiastical  half-brother, 
builder  of  Bayeux  and  designer  of  the  famous 
Bayeux  tapestry,  left  at  Falaise  no  worthy 
monument  of  their  building  era.  William's 
sagacity  was  hurtful  to  his  birthplace.  His 
intuitive  instinct,  with  true  Viking  prophetic 
vision,  foresaw  the  future  importance  of  Caen. 
There,  where  large  rivers  ran,  close  to  the  sea, 
great  cities  grew.  He  built,  therefore,  his  two 
Abbeys  at  Caen. 

Falaise's  natural  advantages  had  determined 
her  role.  She  would  be  and  would  continue  to 
be,  a  magnificent  cliff-fortress.  As  a  town, 
she  would  play  a  secondary  part  in  the  history 
of  her  time.     Such  was  William's  view. 

The  chapels,  therefore,  that  grew,  under  the 
pressure    of   the   eleventh    century's  new-born 


FA  LA  IS  E    OF  OUR   OWN   TIME  263 

passion  of  building,  into  churches,  were  all 
parochial  churches.  They  never  aspired  to 
become  cathedrals. 

The  oldest  of  all  the  churches  in  town  is,  to 
be  entirely  accurate,  just  out  of  it.  That  leg- 
endary investigating  goat  that  summoned,  by 
its  cries,  the  gallo- Romans  who  then  owned 
Guibray,  to  view  its  discovery  of  the  statue  of  the 
Virgin,  was  its  true  founder.  The  chapel,  re- 
built later  by  Mathilda  of  Flanders,  was  the  Nor- 
man successor  to  that  primitive  shrine.  The 
fine  choir  and  rounded  apse  which  were  beau- 
tiful examples  of  a  still  later  Norm.an,  are  now 
encased  in  the  so-called  embellishments  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  It  is  needless  to  add,  these 
attempts  have  resulted  in  disaster.  The  older 
noble  Norman  choir  has  entirely  disappeared. 
Instead,  there  is  a  meaningless  circular  recess, 
at  the  top  of  which  are  two  huge  unsightly  win- 
dows, the  whole  supported  by  shallow  pilasters. 

The  strength  and  simplicity  of  the  Norman 
nave,  the  rough  primitive  transepts,  and  the 
noble  Norman  door  with  its  rich  carvings,  are, 
however,  expressive  examples  of  the  great  Nor- 
man period. 


264  FALAISE 

This  church  is  intimately  associated  with 
two  early  queens,  both  of  whom  lived  much  at 
Falaise.  Mathilda's  pride  in  the  church,  at 
whose  dedication  she  and  her  husband  both 
assisted,  must  have  been  at  its  height  when 
this  new  church  of  Guibray,  in  common  with 
all  the  other  churches  of  Falaise  was  given, 
with  all  its  tithes  and  rights  of  burial,  to  the 
church  of  churches  for  Mathilda,  her  own 
Abbey  aux  Dames  at  Caen.  The  ladies  of  the 
abbey  held  all  the  livings  and  revenues  of 
these  churches  until  the  Revolution. 

The  dim  features  of  Berenice,  that  romantic 
bride  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart  married  in 
Sicily,  illuded  and  yet  pursued  me,  as  I  walked 
beneath  the  Norman  arches. 

A  far  more  vivid,  human,  and  admirable 
memory  was  a  half-hour  spent  in  the  presby- 
tery of  Notre  Dame  de  Guibray.  The  flutter 
of  a  priest's  robe  at  the  gray  door  of  the  high 
garden  wall  reminded  me  I  had,  so  to  speak,  a 
friend  at  Court.  In  an  incredibly  short  time 
I  was  made  at  home  in  the  presbytery.  The 
cure,  his  mother,  and  young  sister,  and  my 
genial  friend  the  Abbe,  all  lived  together  in  a 


FA  LA  IS  E    OF  OUR    OWN   TIME  265 

charming  seventeenth-century  stone  house. 
The  presence  of  the  dignified  tiiere  gave  a  note 
to  the  home  life  one  rarely  associates  with  a 
priestly  interior.  It  was  not  alone  the  house 
I  must  see,  but  the  garden,  where,  day  after 
day,  winter  and  summer,  the  two  priests  did 
their  walking  as  they  said  the  office  of 
the  hour  or  talked  over  their  parochial 
duties.  It  was  a  pleasing  picture  I  carried 
away  with  me, —  this  of  the  two  stalwart 
priests,  with  their  intelligent,  expressive  Nor- 
man features,  set  in  the  frame  of  their  sunny, 
blossoming  garden  ;  and  also  of  that  and 
many  other  stirring  chats  about  churches, 
Falaisian  history,  and  the  men  of  old  and 
modern  times. 

V 

One  feels  the  Square  of  Saint  Gervais,  at  the 
end  of  the  Rue  Argentan,  to  be  the  heart  of 
the  town.  Long,  irregular  streets  grow  out  of 
this  centre  of  the  mild  provincial  stir  and 
traffic.  In  spite  of  the  obviously  modernized 
houses,  the  Square,  in  the  language  of  the 
studio,  composes   well.      It  possesses   the   first 


266 


FALAISE 


essential  of  the  pain  table  quality  :  its  lines  are 
irregular,  yet  harmonious.  It  presents  also 
a  great  variety  of  perspectives  rich  in  color- 
schemes.     The  Rue  des  Cordeliers  ends  in  the 

brown  bastions 
and  the  outer 
rickety  stairway 
that  make  of  the 
once  stout  La 
Porte  Ogier  a 
favorite  play- 
house for  the 
children  of  the 
neighborhood. 

The  chief  or- 
nament of  the 
Square  is  the 
rich  Norman- 
Gothic  Church 
of  Saint  Gervais.  Its  beautiful  Norman  tower 
rises  above  the  modernized  house-fronts,  with 
the  dignity  of  an  older,  lordlier  day.  For  cen- 
turies, however,  so  far  from  the  building  stand- 
ing as  one  apart  from  the  humble  houses  about 
it,   the   church   had  taken  shops  and    meaner 


Apse  of  Saint  Gervais,  Falaise. 


f^ 


FALAISE   OF  OUR   OWN  TIME  269 

dwellings  to  its  bosom,  so  to  speak.  These 
incrustations  were  still  disfiguring  the  sacred 
edifice  when  I  last  saw  it.  The  restorations 
now^  o-oino-  on  ha\e  in  view,  however,  the  re- 
moval  of  these  unsightly  reminders  of  the 
walled  town. 

The  earliest  beginnings  of  Saint  Gervais  were 
in  tliat  Chapellc  Diicale  which  was  said  to  have 
faced  the  house  —  Ic  Manoir  de  Guillaiimc, 
in  whicl-i  Arlette,  his  mother,  and  Verpray,  his 
grandsire,  lived.  Freeman  will  tell  you  W  il- 
liam  was  born  in  this  house  on  or  near  the 
Square.  Nevertheless,  to  those  who  prefer  the 
more  picturesque  theory  of  the  Conqueror's 
first  cradle  having  been  in  the  narrow  castle 
chamber,  for  such  there  is  the  circumstantial 
proof  that  the  babe  was  baptized  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Trinity,  the  parish  church  of 
the  chateau. 

It  is  significant  of  William's  interest  in  this 
part  of  the  town  close  to  his  house  —  or  to 
that  of  his  mother's — that  he  should  have 
given  the  ducal  chapel  to  the  town.  As  the 
town,  however,  in  these  earlier  feudal  days  pos- 
sessed no  communal  rights,  the  Duke  reserved 


270  FALAISE 

to  himself  and  his  heirs  all  seigneurial  privileges. 
The  chapel  was  immediately  rebuilt  into  what 
must  have  been  the  noble  Norman  structure 
Henry  I.  saw  consecrated  in  11 34.  Of  this 
edifice  we  have  remaining  the  fine  central 
tower  and  one  entire  side  of  the  nave  with  its 
side  chapels.  The  other  side  of  the  nave  is 
Gothic.  The  effect  of  such  an  astounding 
mixture  of  styles  in  close  juxtaposition  is,  of 
course,  fatal  to  unity  and  harmony.  For  those 
essential  elements  of  beauty  one  must  turn  to 
the  exterior.  The  late  Gothic  and  Renaissance 
of  the  choir,  with  the  richly  crochetted  flying 
buttresses,  pinnacles,  and  the  elaborately  carved 
parapet,  form  an  architectural  ensemble  of  great 
distinction. 

For  an  effective  contrast  in  ornament,  I 
know  few  churches  offering  so  many  interest- 
ing examples  as  Saint  Gervais.  The  rude, 
grotesque  figures  and  distorted  features  of  the 
eleventh  century,  in  the  capitals  of  columns  in 
the  Norman  nave,  face  the  refined  traceries  of 
the  Gothic.  Rough  demoniacal  gargoyles  grin 
and  leer  at  the  serpentine  curves  of  beautifully 
carved  salamanders  on  its  exterior. 


FA  LA  IS  E   OF  OUR   OWN  TIME  27  I 

Some  further  pleasing  relics  of  antiquity  are 
to  be  found  in  the  side  chapels  of  the  Norman 
nave.  To  associate  pleasure  with  a  review  of 
tombal  ef^gies  and  armorial  frescos  may  seem 
a  curious  taste;  yet  there  survives  in  us  all 
something  of  that  old  ancestor-worship  which 
delights  in  any  record  of  the  dead.  In  the 
litde  side-chapels  of  Saint  Gervais  are  black 
bands  encircling  the  shafts  of  columns;  on  these 
bands  the  arms  of  the  D'Aubignys  and  other 
famous  Norman  names  shine  in  dimmed  heraldic 
splendor.  In  the  tombs  beneath  one's  feet 
the  figures  in  outline,  costumed  in  rigid  quaint 
garb,  are  those  of  Norman  Knights  and  their 
ladies. 

Of  the  Square  as  Henry  IV.,  as  Frangois  I., 
as  Charles  X.  saw  it,  there  is  little  left,  save  the 
Church,  of  the  Place  that  was  the  first  to  wel- 
come its  Kings  with  the  pomp  and  splendor 
that  made  the  royal  entries  of  Falaise  famous. 

The  "  whispering  neighbors "  of  the  many 
ofabled  windows  in  the  narrower,  less  modern- 
ized  streets,  will  lead  you  toward  that  part  of 
the  town  that  grew  up  about  the  fortress.  On 
your  way  thither,  you  will  stop  to  look  across 


272 


FA  LA  IS  E 


to  the  swimmino;  heio^hts  of  Mont  Bezet  framed 
in  the  door  of  the  old  gateway  —  one  of  two 
still  standing  —  now  known  by  the  name  of 
Les  Cordeliers.     Its  older  name  of  La  Porte  d' 


The  Chateau  of  Versainville  near  Falaise. 


Ogier  le  Danois  has  a  far  greater  significance 
for  modern  ears. 

A  part  of  the  gardens  of  William  the  Con- 
C|ueror's  "manoir"  were  given  to  the  convent 
of  Les  Freres  Mineiirs,  known  as  Les  Corde- 
liers. In  time  the  gateway  took  the  name  of 
the  brothers. 

The  monumental  state  of  some  of  the  older 
house-walls    and     fa9ades     recalls    the    many 


FALAISE   OF  OUR   OWN    TIME  273 

abbeys  and  convents  which  here,  as  at  Caen, 
Bayeux,  and  Rouen,  must  have  made  tliose 
mediaeval  towns  seem  one  vast  conventual 
city,  interspersed  by  a  few  churches,  dwellings 
and  chateaux.  F'alaise,  from  its  earliest  Nor- 
man days,  was  a  very  devout  Catholic  indeed. 
Its  cowled  monks  and  hooded  sisters  were 
even  more  numerous  a  body  than  were,  in 
times  of  peace,  its  soldiers.  Hospitals,  con- 
vents, a  home  for  lepers,  —  with  these  and  the 
numerous  abbeys  was  the  town  crowded. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  town,  overlooking 
the  Valdante,  you  still  may  see  the  left  wing  of 
the  ancient  House  of  the  Templars.  The  first 
appearance  of  these  "  Chevaliers  of  the  Tem- 
ple "  at  F^alaise,  was  in  1170.  When  the  over- 
rich  templars  were  sent  to  their  dreadful  death 
in  1309,  their  estates  were  divided — their  Fal- 
aisian  property  sinking  later  to  the  level  of  a 
printing-house. 

In  the  quiet  Square  of  Guillaume-le-Con- 
querant  you  may  still  see  some  of  the  state  of 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth-century  town. 
As  if  brandishing  his  successes  in  the  teeth  of 
this   Falaise  of  the   Bourbons,  the   Duke  Wil- 


2  74 


FALAISE 


liam,  astride  a  huge  stallion,  in  theatrical  pose, 
waves  aloft  in  the  centre  of  this  Square,  his 
knights'  banner.  This  ec|uestrian  statue,  with 
the  six  Dukes  of  Normandy,  in  their  mantles 
and  armor,  guarding  the  lower  pedestal,  seems 
to  fill  the  tranquil  Place  as  with  a  noisy  pres- 
ence. The  figure  of  the  Duke  belongs  to  that 
period  of  French  sculpture  when  frenzied  ac- 
tion was  mistaken  for  the  subtler  principle  of 
rendering  movement  through  repose  in  which 
action  is  suggested  rather  than  tumultuously 
expressed. 

The  true  jewel  of  this  Square  is  the  Church  of 
Sainte  Trinite.  A  beautiful  triangular  chapel 
fronts  on  the  Square.  One  enters  through  a 
charming  porch  in  full  Renaissance  bloom. 
Although  there  are  earlier  Gothic  features  in 
the  church,  the  structure,  as  a  whole,  recalls  that 
florid  style  Hector  Sohier  made  so  popular. 
There  are  portions  of  Sainte  Trinite  that  are  like 
the  fragments  of  a  palace.  The  richly  deco- 
rated Renaissance  porch  is  one  such  fragment ; 
another  is  that  portion  of  the  choir  beneath 
which  is  tunnelled  the  enchanting  passage-way 
leadinof  from  one  old  street  to  another.     The 


FA  LA  IS E    OF  OUR    OlViV   TIME 


275 


magnificent  Renaissance  buttress,  with  its 
carved  pinnacle,  close  to  this  vaulted  passage- 
way, is   a  monument  in  itself. 

The  character  of  the  Place  Guillaume  Le 
Conquerant  is  distinctly  eighteenth- 
century —  as  is  indeed 
much  of  the  town  still 
left,  after  the  vandalism 
of  the  last  hundred 
years.  For  the 
F a  1  a i s e  up  to 
the  time  of 
the  Revolu- 
tion was  still 
a  wonderful 
little  town. 
Its  streets 
were  then 
lined  with 
richly  carved  gabled  houses  ;  its  six  noble  gate- 
ways were  then  still  standing.  To  realize  the 
immense  style  such  gateways  give  to  a  town 
one  must  go  nowadays  as  far  as  Bordeaux. 
The  fortress  was  then  in  ruins.  The  walls, 
however,    both    about    the    chateaux    and    the 


Saiiifc   Trinitc,   CJioir  and  Apse. 


276  FA  LA  IS E 

town,  were  almost  intact,  with  many  of  the 
turrets  and  towers  in  perfect  condition.  The 
old  moats  already  had  been  converted  into 
the  smiling  gardens  and  orchards  that  grow 
beneath  our  feet,  as  we  stand,  nowadays,  on  the 
bridees  that  cross  them.  The  innumerable 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth-century  chateaux, 
that  still  give  their  note  of  stately  distinc- 
tion to  Falaise,  were  then  at  their  very  prime 
of  luxury  and  grandeur.  The  convents  and 
abbeys  in  and  about  the  town  were  also  in  full 
enjoyment  of  their  privileges  and  prosperity. 

When  Falaise,  therefore,  saw  fit  to  offer  a 
Kine  its  homare,  it  had  the  means  at  hand 
of  presenting  that  homage  with  magnificent 
state.  The  royal  entry  offered  to  Charles  X., 
when,  as  Comte  d'Artois,  he  passed  through 
the  town,  is  recorded  as  one  of  unusual  splen- 
dor. Churches  were  decked  in  banners  and 
rich  cloths.  The  triumphal  arches  were  as 
numerous  as  they  were  gorgeous  in  color. 
The  town  had  robed  herself  in  superb  cloths 
and  stuffs  of  her  own  weaving.  To  the  proces- 
sions that  went  forth  to  meet  the  future  King, 
the  Seigneurs  lent  a  state  no  cor/egc  of  Repub- 


FA  LA  IS  E   OF  OUR   OIVN  TIME 


277 


lican  France  now  commands.  The  coaches 
were  the  coaches  of  fairies,  as  decked  with 
plumes  as  a  duchess's  bed.  The  gold  and 
silver-wrought  vestments  that  glittered  on  the 


TJic  ChiircJi  of  Saint e  Trinite. 


backs  of  priests  and  archbishops  would  bring 
fabulous  prices  to-day  in  the  antiquity  shops. 
To  the  splendor  of  ecclesiastical  and  court 
ceremonial  was  added  the  richness  of  robes 
worn  by  judicial  and  cixic  authorities;  and 
the  very  crowds  that  lined  the  streets,  in  their 
o-av  and   picturesque    costumes,  made    a  Ijlaze 


278  FALAISE 

of  color  unknown  in  our  more  practical,  less 
poetic  age. 

For  Napoleon  the  Great,  Falaise,  in  the 
exuberance  of  its  admiration  for  this  new  con- 
queror, had  prepared  its  best  welcome.  The 
chateaux  of  the  neighborhood,  forgetting  their 
hate,  were  generous  enough  to  remember  only 
the  gracious  laws  of  hospitality.  Napoleon 
was  to  be  the  guest  at  the  Chateau  de  la 
Fresnay.  The  town  had  prepared  a  triumph 
as  elaborate  as  it  was  to  be  costly.  But  between 
the  courtesies  of  the  Valois  and  the  Bourbons, 
and  the  brutal  indifference  of  the  great  Corsican, 
there  lay  the  great  dividing  line  which  has 
marked  the  distinction  of  the  Old  Regime  and 
the  newer  order  of  no  manners  and  a  great 
haste. 

Napoleon  found  no  time  for  the  eating  even 
of  the  elaborate  banquet  spread  for  him  at  the 
chateau  ;  and  still  less  for  the  nonsense  of  a 
"  royal  entry "  in  a  remote  little  town.  The 
naive  Falaisians  sent  to  proffer  him  the  town's 
welcome,  in  song,  beneath  the  chateau  win- 
dows, received  a  characteristic  Napoleonic 
treatment.      "  Ou    peut-on    etre    mieux    qu  au 


FALAISE   OF  OUR   OWN   TIME  279 

sein  de  sa  famillc?"  the  beloved  national 
air,  was  sung  to  ears  that  even  in  gayer  mo- 
ments had  no  taste  for  music.  The  touchino; 
suggestion  to  the  idyl  of  peace  to  be  enjoyed 
in  the  faniily  circle,  was  perhaps  unfortunate. 
Napoleon  had  as  much  use  for  the  joys  of 
either  the  family  or  the  national  bosom  as  he 
had  for  peace.  The  singing  Falaisians  were 
"bidden  to  stop."  As  they,  in  their  innocent 
ignorance  of  the  new  order  of  things  brutal, 
still  continued.  Napoleon  yelled  out  to  his 
guards,  ''Do  your  duty!"  It  is  recorded  of 
the  unfortunate  musicians  "that  they  retired  in 
great  confusion."  The  town  had  only  the  debts 
of  the  royal  entry  that  never  came  off,  to  pay 
in  souvenir  of  this  disgraceful  action  of  the 
"  sovereign  of  the  people." 

Little  wonder  they  "danced  gayly "  when 
the  Bourbons  came  in,  dancing  in  the  squares, 
in  the  streets,  and  in  the  suburbs.  For  three 
long  months  their  songs  and  shouts  of  joy 
succeeded  the  groans  and  tears  Napoleon's 
cruel  wars  had  wrung  from  almost  every  Falai- 
sian  home.  As  in  tlie  first  delirium  of  the 
freedom  promised   b\-  the   Revolution,   Falaise 


28o  FA  LA  IS  E 

then  had  given  herself  up,  in  common  with  all 
France,  to  the  excesses  of  the  age  of  reason, 
so  in  this  restoration  of  her  ancient  Kings, 
she  celebrated  her  rapture  with  the  ardor  and 
intensity  characteristic  of  her  nature. 

In  Republican  France,  the  Carmagnole  in 
the  open  streets  has  been  superseded  by  balls 
given  by  the  Mayor  to  the  People,  in  Town 
Halls. 

Yonder,  across  the  ramparts,  as  we  peer 
below  into  the  peaceful  vale  where  browsing 
sheep  and  sleek  cattle  have  succeeded  the 
swans  that  floated,  in  times  of  peace,  in  moat, 
and  pond,  we  seem  to  see,  as  through  a  mist, 
that  host  of  men  that  have  fought,  during  the 
long  centuries,  the  battles  that  have  made  the 
People  free. 


THE    END 


3fn  anti  0nt  of. 

Cljrcc  jBtormantig  ^nng 

BY  ANNA  BOWMAN   DODD 

Ne<w  edition,  ^Jth_numerous  full-page^  p[ate^and_oiher  illustrations. 

flmo,     Ctoih,  extra.     Price,  $2,00 

t2mo,    Paperf  ivith  frontispiece,    50  cents 


Opimons  on  Ziyvcc  j'^ormauDp  jnns 

The  reader  who  lays  down  this  book  without  wishing  there  were  more  of  it 
is  to  be  pitied.  ...  It  is  rarely  that  so  thoroughly  delightful  a  bit  of  travel  and 
study  is  discovered.  These  sketches  of  Normandy  coast  scenes,  people,  and 
inns,  are  really  quite  ideally  good.  The  author  has  done  good  work  before,  but 
nothing  so  good  as  this.  .  .  .  The  inns  so  capitally  treated  are  at  Villerville, 
Dives,  and  Mont  St.  .Michel,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of  them  is  the  most 
fascinating. —  Nirzo  York  Tribune. 

Charming  alike  in  matter  and  literary  style.  She  has  the  eye  of  an  artist 
for  the  picturesque,  and  the  art  of  presenting  her  impressions  in  pure  and  grace- 
ful English.  Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the  description  of  Villerville 
in  the  opening  chapters.  It  literally  "  breathes  of  the  sea  "  and  of  the  fisher-folk 
who  have  their  homes  within  the  quaint  old  village. —Az;/  Fntiuisco  Call. 

No  one,  we  fancy,  will  be  able  to  close  this  enticing  volume  without  a  desire 
to  cross  the  sea  and  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  its  author,  from  Villerville  to 
Dives,  from  Dives  to  Caen,  thence  to  Coutance,  and  finally  to  the  summit  of  the 
cathedral-crowned  Mont  St.  Michel.  .  .  .  She  has  the  art  of  making  pictures 
for  her  readers  which  pulsate  with  real  atmosphere  and  glow  with  veritable 
color.  There  is  quick  apprehension,  close  ob.servation,  a  keen  sense  of  the 
comical  —  and  there  is  also,  here  and  there,  a  delicate  touch  of  feeling. — 
Literary  World.  

LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers 

254  Washington  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 

[OVI  R.] 


(Dpin  10116  on  t\)tt(  j^ormanDy^  Jlimg 

111  truth,  we  must  say  this  author  has  fine  adaptiveness  (anybody  can  bolt, 
but  few  discriminate),  and  the  literary  quality  of  her  "Three  Normandy  Inns" 
is  of  the  best.  It  deserves  distinguishing  consideration,  and  will  add  to  the 
reputation  already  won  among  readers  of  her  delightful  "  Cathedral  Days." — 
jVc-7a  Yoik  Times. 

Ii  is  long  since  a  more  vivacious  and  thoroughly  charming  volume  of 
travels  has  appeared.  Old  as  the  theme  is,  and  familiar  as  the  ground  is,  Mrs. 
Dodd  has  given  to  her  narrative  an  individuality  and  a  freshness  that  are 
delightful.  —  Book  Buyer. 

Gives  the  reader  a  curious  insight  into  the  customs  and  life  in  this  province 
of  Northern  France  which  has  been  so  idealized  by  the  artists.  The  author  has 
a  dainty  touch  ;  she  sees  all  that  is  picturesque  in  this  land  overshadowed  by  its 
stirring  history.  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

It  is  charmingly  and  humorously  written,  with  a  keen  insight  into  the  char- 
acter of  the  sturdy,  vigorous  coast  people.  —  Richmond  Despatch. 

Agreeably  vivacious  and  well  written.  But  it  is  of  the  sea-encircled  Mont 
St.  Michel  that  the  author  writes  best  —  how  well,  only  those  who  have  visited 
the  abbey,  and,  above  all,  partaken  of  the  wonderful  omelettes  of  Mme.  Poulard 
can  know.  —  Philadelphia    Press. 

The  writer  is  a  keen  observer  of  men  and  things,  and,  descril^ed  by  her  magic 
pen,  the  most  commonplace  scenes  and  incidents  become  as  attractive  reading 
as  the  most  exciting  novel.  —  Omaha  Bee. 

As  the  beautiful  country  always  presents  some  novel  features,  so  does  the 
clever  book,  with  its  "  ins  and  outs,"  give  you  a  fresher  appreciativeness. 
"  Three  Normandy  Inns  "  is  a  book  apart.  This  was  to  be  expected  of  the 
author  of  "Cathedral  Days."  One  might  tire  a  little  of  painters'  slang,  some- 
times of  their  ways,  Ixit  not  so  when  the  Unknown,  and  Charm,  her  friend,  and 
John  Renard,  and  M-  Paul,  and  Madame  the  Countess  talk  and  tell,  as  in  this 
volume,  of  what  they  saw,  and  give  you  their  impressions.  Vou  are  no  longer 
driving  in  the  hot  sun,  along  monotonous  roads,  or  plodding  along  sea  beaches ; 
you  are  face  to  face  with  the  unexpected.  .  .  . 

"When  the  strategic  William  was  preparing  for  his  descent,  and  England 
and  Harfleur  were  to  lie  overcome,  on  the  great  waters  of  the  Dives,  he 
built  his  boats,  and  there  stood  on  the  spot  for  centuries  an  inn,  formerly  a 
manor-house,  and  le  Sieur  de  Semilly,  who  quartered  the  arms  of  Savoy  on  his 
escutcheon,  held  the  place.  Here  it  was  that  that  lively  lady,  Mme.  de  Sevigne, 
with  a  gallant  company,  stopped  some  centuries  ago.  With  infinite  grace,  and 
in  touch  with  the  period,  Anna  Bowman  Dodd  describes  that  visit.  The  con- 
clusion of  the  scene  is  as  neatly  done  as  if  a  de  Goncourt  had  written  it.  —  Atw 
York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers 

254  Washtngton  Street,  Boston,  Mass, 


Cntiyttuvnl  m^y>^ 


A  TOUR  IN 
SOUTHERN  ENGLAND 

By   ANNA    BOWMAN    DODD 

,  Nezv  edition.  Illustrated  with  Sketches 
and  Photographs  by  E.  Eldon  Deane. 
J2P10.       C'jb,     extri!.       Prue,    $I.jO 


©pinions  on  (Katijctiral  Dags 

A  fresh  and  ever  readable  author.  —  Ne'w  Tori  Tribune. 

Ir\-ing  and  Hawthorne  seem  to  us  the  only  travellers  in  England  who  have 
shown  such  keen  insight  into  the  spirit  of  English  life  as  she  does.  —  Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

It  is  no  small  compliment  to  say  that  in  its  new  dress  ...  it  deserves  a 
reception  as  warm  as  the  first.  The  cathedrals  visited  are  Salisbury,  Wells, 
Exeter,  Chichester,  and  Winchester,  and  the  illustrations  include  pictures  of  all 
of  them,  but  the  real  value  of  the  book  comes  from  the  author's  keen  eye  for 
small  details  of  manners,  dress,  and  bearing,  speech  and  voice,  necessarv-  for  the 
perfection  of  an  imagined  picture  of  a  foreign  land.  — Neiv  Tori  Times. 

There  is  a  freshness,  grace,  and  humor  about  this  description  of  a  tour  in 
Southern  England  that  make  everj-  step  a  pleasure  and  many  scenes  a  delight.  — 
North  American,  Philadelphia. 

Uncommonly  interesting.  —  Buffalo  Express. 

Mrs.  Dodd's  work  remains  unique  in  our  list  of  travel-books,  and  its  pic- 
tures of  the  English  countryside  remain  in  mind  long  after  the  book  has  been 
laid  aside.  A  word  of  commendation  should  be  expressed  for  the  handsome 
dress  given  the  book  in  paper,  binding  and  illustrations.  — Art  Interchange. 

There  is  a  careful  setting  forth  of  facts,  historical  and  otherwise,  sand- 
wiched between  personal  experiences  obtained  in  an  unconventional  and  alto- 
gether unguide-book  manner,  and  the  combination  is  irresistible.  —  Chicago 
Efenir.g  Post. 

The  author's  eye  is  quick  and  her  hand  is  sure,  whether  surrounded  by  the 
stately  magnificence  of  a  bishop's  palace  or  the  loveliness  of  lonely  roads  and 
sunny  riversides.  The  charm  is  not  alone  of  the  subject,  but  of  the  fancy 
which  brightens  the  colors  of  e\er)'  view.  The  personal  interest  is  well  man- 
aged, and  the  little  happenings  of  the  way,  often  mirthfijl  and  sometime^ 
provoking,  are  never  given  a  word  too  much.  — San  Francisco  Argonaut. 


©pillions  on  Catijctiral  l^ags 

A  real  addition  to  the  brief  list  of  books  that  give  zest  to  a  tourist.  . 
They  hire  a  T-cart ;  a  horse,  christened  "  Ballad,"  with  whom  they  and  we  are 
soon  on  terms  of  choice  acquaintanceship  ;  and  proceed  with  light  belongings 
over  an  ideal  route,  stopping  at  ivied  country  inns,  when  and  where  they  choose, 
subject  to  nothing  but  the  weather  and  their  own  will.  Their  tour  begins  at 
Arundel  in  Sussex,  and  ends  at  Exeter  in  Devon,  a  journey  of  six  enchanted 
weeks, — a  blended  succession  of  rural  villages,  towns,  heaths  (  Stonehenge  and 
Bath  taken  in  by  the  way  ),  manor-houses,  castles,  and  bevond  and  over  all  the 
sacred  and  inspiring  Cathedrals  of  Chichester,  Winchester,  Salisbury,  Wells,  anc 
Exeter.  —  Edmund  C.  Stedman,  in  the  Book  Buyer. 

How  one  can  imprison  so  much  English  sunshine  and  fragrance,  and  trans- 
mute it  into  style,  and  spread  it  out  on  the  printed  page,  as  our  American  saun- 
terer  in  England  has  done,  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  authorship.  —  The  Critic. 

Here  are  English  inns,  and  bttxom  landladies  and  romantic  ones,  with  the 
queer  waiters,  and  lusty  talk  of  English  yeomen,  and  the  chatter  of  Einglish 
lasses,  and  their  songs,  and  the  mysteries  of  the  old  houses,  and  you  make 
journeyings  along  flowery  lanes  and  dusty  highroads,  and  you  climb  up  breezy 
hills,  and  then  all  at  once  the  glory  of  Winchester  or  Wells  or  Glastonbury  or 
Exeter  bursts  on  you.  —  Nciv  York  Times. 

Mrs.  Dodd's  leisurely  happy  ride  in  her  carriage  from  one  South  of  Eng- 
land cathedral  to  another  made  the  perfect  atmosphere  for  a  summer  book.  Her 
recital  is  perfect  in  style  and  matter.  —  Eiuu/geiist. 

Nothing  half  so  charming  in  its  way  as  Mrs.  Dodd's  "  Cathedral  Days" 
has  appeared  since  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  told  us  of  his  "Inland  Voyage." 
.  .  .  We  can  no  more  describe  its  flavor  than  we  could  describe  the  flavor  of  a 
fruit.  Each  man  must  read  it  for  himself;  and  indeed  it  ought  to  be  read  by  all 
who  enjoy  the  spell  of  good  literature.  Nobody  who  takes  it  up  will  be  willing 
to  put  it  down  until  he  has  absorbed  the  whole  of  it,  from  preface  to  finis. — 
New   York  Commercial  Ad-vertiser. 

Their  horse,  whom  they  christened  "  Ballad,"  was  no  unimportant  member 
of  the  expedition  ;  and  his  eccentricities  and  weaknesses,  his  difficulties  in  getting 
down  hill  and  his  reluctances  in  getting  up,  are  depicted  with  a  good  deal  of 
humor.  —  Literary  World. 

The  book  is  not  only  what  it  purports  to  be  (  fide  preface),  "  the  adven- 
tures that  befell  us  on  our  charming  journey,"  but  it  is  just  the  book  for  one  to 
take  as  a  guide  among  the  cathedral  towns  of  southern  England,  Arundel, 
Chichester,  Winchester,  Rowley,  Salisbury,  Wells,  Stonehenge,  Glastonbury, 
and  Exeter.  What  suggestions  come  from  simply  reading  such  a  list  of  names  ! 
HoR.ACE    P.    Chandler,  in  Boston  Adfertiser. 

Mrs.  Dodd  has  a  charming  subject,  and  she  has  treated  it  with  taste  and 
sympathy.  The  tour  which  she  describes  was  made  with  her  husband  in  a  one- 
horse  T-cart  which  they  drove  themselves  ;  and  they  spent  about  two  months, 
in  fine  summer  weather,  journeying  about  southern  Fingland,  which  is  one  of  the 
loveliest  countries  in  the  world.  —  Neiv   York  Tribune. 


^^:^feii^ 


iv^^ 


